Justice League Chapter 10: Harpooning For You
by JLU513061
Summary: The memoirs of Bruce Wayne are regarded as one of the best accounts of the day the gods themselves banded together to combat an apocalyptic evil. 150 years from the day they were written, a young man uncovers all but one of the journals secrets! King Arthur wakes on the sea floor, all of his royal guards dead. Now he must return to Atlantis.
1. JL Chapter 1: The Red Star

**Prologue**

"Every day, I would rise from bed with to find breakfast prepared on my nightstand, the sun would peer through the small openings in between the rungs of the curtains, just before my father would part them. The sunlight illuminated the room so brilliantly. My mother would enter, kissing me on the forehead so tenderly.  
"Will that be all for you, sir?", our butler and family friend would inquire of my father. His kindness and true care for me and my family's well-being was impressed upon me as a man I could respect as equally as I did my father.  
"That will be all, Alfred.", my father would answer, with an inflection that rivaled my admiration of the older confidant I grew up with, and was soon to be raised by. I shall miss him dearly, as I have missed my parents.  
Their deaths spurred me to become the man I am today. That night my soul was stained with blood just as my fathers suit, and my mothers coat. The street light above me flickered synchronously with the pulsating ring of the gunfire in my ear. I was transformed into something I didn't want to be. The happiness of my childhood up until that point was purged as if it never existed, nor would continue to exist as my fathers body collapsed onto the cold, wet asphalt alley way.  
Their murderer fled with such cowardice. His shadow on the brick wall of the left-hand side of the alley stood tall at a couple dozen feet, but as he made his way to the farther street corner, his shadow shrunk, smaller, and smaller it followed him until it caught up to him in size. That is when I realized he was just a man. No different from anyone else.  
It seemed as though hours had passed before I heard the whirring of police sirens. What little comfort it gave me. I was approached by two officers. One of them was particularly nice, while the other was no more than procedural.  
At the station, it took no longer than ten minutes before Alfred had shown up. His eyes reddened by the shedding of tears. The consolation his embrace gave me was the only thing that kept me from losing my grip on reality that cold winters night. He was constantly ripped from me, to be questioned by police regarding various legal matters concerning what will happen to me, Wayne Manor, and my fathers company, Wayne Enterprises in accordance with my parents last will and testament.  
I felt nothing shortly after returning to the manor. I felt no exhaustion, no hunger, no happiness. The next morning, Alfred entered my doorway, startled to find I had not slept, but sat up in my bed the entire night. The same restlessness that was on my face, was on his. I recalled vividly replaying the memory of one particular morning, in which I awoke to a deathly squealing above me-"

A classroom of young adults, all of sophmoric age, stifled with disregard flared their eyes towards their teacher, attempting to show some signs she had their undivided attention. The teacher adjusts to the next page of the book she is reading. The binding is ruffled, and the pages are yellowed.  
"Now we have some pages missing, but forensic records show that the pages were torn from the book not days after they were written. So we are to continue ahead, and try and pick up on the pieces. Afterwards, I would like each of you to give me a summation of what you think the missing pages were about.", the teacher explained to the class.  
Their enthusiasm was spent, save for one young man in particular.

"-father's life was always about the challenge of doing right, even when the line between right and wrong was blurred beyond differentiation.  
I suppose that notion alone is what has reigned in all those feelings of anger and frustration that have, and still do plague me to this day. To exact revenge would be to tarnish the symbol my father was for this city. I had to raise myself above my petty thirst for vengance. Little did I know it would be the driving force that would lead to the salvation of humankind.

When the war broke out between gods, I knew my entire life was leading up to that day.  
The sky cracked open, and hell was unleashed upon us. Those who fought back were the true heroes that day. The fathers that guarded their families from the evil raiding each and every household are the heroes. Each citizen that stood up to our oppressors, at the cost of their lives, are heroes.  
Gods themselves fought back, desperately protecting our world from the evil that encroached upon it. They fought back against the harbinger of evil itself. Many of them gave their lives. Their sacrifice will be forever remembered. I shall certainly never forget it. Mankind owes its existence to them. And I was there to witness it all, for I was just a man among gods that day.

This account does not, however, begin with mankind.

**Chapter One - The Red Star**

**Mars, 1437**

Olympus Mons, the largest volcano in all of the solar system, erupted violently. The ground shook, while plooms of fire, and jets of lava set the nitrogen-rich atmosphere ablaze, encompassing the globe.  
Nomadic like structures made of a white, porous stone, were scorched black as flames showered from the darkened skies above. The scene was one of horror. Martian beings fled their homes, in an attempt to escape the ravaging fire.  
The Martians' appearance was very human like for beings from another planet. With a human like anatomical structure, though the resemblence ended there.  
Their olive green skin glowed in the night as the fire rained down upon them. Adults cradled their young tightly into their long and spindly limbs. Large foot-prints scattered through the red sandy dunes, but extended no further then a dozen yards past the collection of dwellings before the trail ended with the charred remains of Martian corpses. Screams and bellows sprang forth from the mouths of the young huddled into their homes still, as tears were shed from their glossy red eyes. Tall shadows of the Martian's elongated heads were cast upon the dome dwellings from the few that remained in the open to defend their homes and families.  
Globally, the red planets atmosphere burned like the wick of a candle. The fire hailed down to the surface, enveloping what it may. Any and all vegetation was engulfed into the violent twists and turns of each flame. The sparse pools of water within each community began to boil away as the temperature of the planet ascended to just short of unbearable.  
After a time, the down pour of fire ceased, and a loud roar oscillated before every community in the upper hemisphere. One such community, guarded by every male Martian available, prepared for a looming onslaught.  
"H'ronmeer has awoken. We are doomed.", one Martian determined telepathically to his comrades, with an ominous assertion.  
There were seven of them, all struck with the realization of an impending death before them.  
One of the tall Martians was ornamented with a bold red harness, criss-crossing his chest in an "X" like pattern. Nothing more was adorned upon him or his brethren. They each carried no weapons to speak of, clearly prepared for something far more brutal in nature.  
The blaze evaporated from the skies leaving nothing but inconsequential fires that quickly burned up what little vegetation was left. The starlight above twinkled in the blood red eyes of the embellished Martian. Before long, clouds of soot once again obstructed the night sky, and the stargazing aliens attention was again focused on the oncoming threat that was making its way atop the ridge that encompassed their collected dwellings.  
"J'onn, your sentiment is misplaced.", one of his companions pointed out mentally, refering to the harness wearing Martian.  
The Martian known as J'onn gave no afterthought to the comment as he stood guard in front of his own personal dwelling, wife and daughter inside and out of sight.  
Both his wife and child were dressed in a dark gown, most assuredly used during the day to collect as much warmth from the sun as possible. Tucked away beneath a stone ledge inside their simplistically arranged home, they prayed for the protection of their husband and father outside.  
"Do not cry, my daughter.", J'onn's wife explained, as her daughter sobbed in her arms.  
Violent screeches and roars reverberated across the mountainous ranges that secluded this particular set of dwellings. This community was possibly one of the last on the planet itself. The atmospheric fires had no doubt decimated most of the green Martian population.  
In the distance, the silhouettes of large beasts could be made out just above the ridge. White as snow, and as feriocious in appearance as a wild animal. They were relatively large creatures, five feet taller in height than the green Martians themselves. Hunched over, they still stood above any Martian. A leathery white epidermis concealed their true skin, like a layer of protection. An oblong skull, with many protruding ridges down the center of its forehead joined to a large spinal column, with every vertebrae down its back noticeably jetting outwards. At the back-bone, a wide tail swung down around their heels. Standing on their three hoof like toes, both legs from there assembled a digitigrade stance. Each white Martian's musculatory system was not unlike the green Martian's, or human's for that matter, of course excluding legs and tail. The white Martian's physical prowess was plain to see in their brawny physique. One white Martian in particular held a burning torch in his brutish arm, with razor tipped fingers clinging around the soft wood handle, a material that is rare and prized upon Mars. The burning of the wooden torch displayed that in light, a white Martian's skin is glossy, with a translucent property that unveils it's internal structure and circulatory system. The vicious looking Martian opened its jaw revealing razor sharp teeth as it belted out a bloodcurdling battle-cry. Dozens of white Martians raced past the torchbearer, ready to further decimate the green Martians in a civil war on Mars.  
The skies, fully concealed by the clouds of soot, began to rain down ashes over the planet. J'onn stared upwards as the sight was reminiscent of a snowfall, something mentioned ambigously by Martian ancestors long gone. He placed his hand outward, trying to catch the falling ash between his long, slender fingers. As the rapacious white beasts approached, J'onn and his fellow green Martians rushed towards them.  
One green skinned Martian engaged his brutal adversary by leaping onto its upper body. His arms became intangible as he clasped his hands together inside the large beasts skull. He soon removed his nearly invisible arms, and they regained their tangibility. The white Martian fell to the soot covered dunes, in a catatonic state of mind. It was essentially incapacitated as the blankets of ash collected onto his brain-dead corpse. J'onn displayed similar instances of unique ability as many white Martians fell to the six green warriors of Mars. These exemplary bouts did not continue, however. The white Martians' numbers soon doubled, and before long, tripled. The beasts raged closer every second to the homes of the green men, and their loved ones inside. Many pale beasts attempted to lunge their way over the brigade of green Martians. A seventh Martian hung back from the battle to properly guard the dwellings. In his panic, he lept behind a dome dwelling, leaning up against it in cowardice. Assuming a virtually invisible guise to conceal his prescence, the green Martian showed no symptoms of the same unwavering bravery his companions demonstrated.  
Visible on the horizon, more white Martians stampeded over an adjacent gully in the east, between the mountain sides. J'onn and his five companions felt the brunt of the white Martians' violatile force. One particular green warrior had tried to remain intangible for most of the brutal confrontation. He showed signs of extreme physical and mental fatigue, soon losing all focus to maintain his advantage over the pale beasts, he collapsed. In his last moments, his eyes lit up a tantalizing red. J'onn and his companions all experienced a flush of emotion as the dying Martians memories were transferred to them. The white Martians then swarmed the green warriors all but unconscious comrade. Ear-piercing shrieks of pain rang out from the Martian as the colorless beasts frenzied around him. He was torn limb from limb, dying a horrific death, though his companions had hardly the time to even acknowledge his demise amidst the raging battle.  
J'onn grappled with multiple white Martians. He shape-shifted his left arm, wrapping it tightly around the throats of two beast simultaneously. The beasts swung their arms, brazenly repelling J'onn, but no sooner did the white Martians fall over dead from asphyxiation. Several more pale brutes collided with the harness wearing green warrior. J'onn's red eyes glowed brilliantly as the three other beasts dropped dead from an apparent psionic assault. An ability the other green Martians clearly lacked, or at least weren't trained to use in such a way.  
The warring raged on. Before long, the strain of defending the white Martians became too much for the green Martians, save for J'onn and one other. Weak from the constant back and forth, two of them succumbed to the ghastly beasts and were devoured in moments. A third green Martian used the last bit of his physical abilities to stop a white Martian who began to leap towards the dwellings not fifteen yards away. Changing his form into that of a gruesome figure, he latched onto the white Martian in the middle of the stagnant, ash filled air. With no more than a jerk of his vice like grip, the white Martian was split in two as orchid colored blood stained the soot laden ground. Extremely weary from taking on such a drastic, gruesome form, white Martians coverged on him at such an opportunity. He befell their cruel intentions while he slowly reverted back into his true form. Defying each white Martians bloodthirsty assaults for a time, he could hold them off no further. Before long, only three green Martian defenders were left.  
The rampaging white Martians from the eastern mountain ranges were nearly upon green skinned Martian's settlement. The two green warriors were intently embroiled in the heat of the battle, and completely unaware of the second group of ferocious beasts approaching. One white Martian in particular raced towards the dwellings from the side, far ahead of any of the other murdering monstrosities. The trembling green Martian cowering behind the dome shaped dwellings dripped sweat as he struggled to retain some semblance of invisibility, despite the crippling mental strain. Several white Martians encompassed the community of homes. One such beast, in close proximity to the disguised Martian, began to breathe heavily through its small nostrils. It tasted the sweat in the air, soon hunching over the hidden Martian who was leaning against a dwelling. The white Martian dwarfed the cowardly soul. Stricken with fear, the green Martian could not hold his imperceptible guise any longer. His leathery green skin came into view in a mere second, though the white Martian showed no air of surprise, knowing of his concealed presence as soon as he picked up on his scent. Instantly, the white Martian's large hand gripped the face of his fearful prey, crushing his skull under the tremendous force. Blood dripped from the green Martian's mouth as he was tossed to the side.  
J'onn meanwhile, fought with an intensity unmatched by his adversaries or his comrade. As soon as two or three crowded around him, he knocked them back several feet with superhuman swings of his fists. In frustration, one white Martian charged towards him. J'onn quickly evaded to the side, grappling the beasts large forearm, and slinging him into the cluster of white Martians edging closer around him. One such pale beast lunged swiftly above the blockade J'onn and his comrade. J'onn instantly lept in above the meet the massive creature, appearing to levitate as he gripped the reptilian like tale, as he slung the beast downward at a deathly velocity. The air flow from his plummit sent ash flying in the air, obstructing the vision of the white Martians temporarly. The other green Martian attempted to fly upwards also, but he encountered much greater difficulty as he lifted twenty feet from the plooms of ash in the air. His hands and legs shaking from the clear mental focus such a feat required. As if the white Martians picked up on the novice warriors uncertainty, a ravaging beast vaulted from the dust clouds below. With its mouth open, it sunk its razor sharp teeth into the leg of the startled green Martian. J'onn could only watch, before soon re-engaging his attention to the oncoming white Martians as the ash began to settle once more. The white Martian snatched the green warrior from the air, as he no longer had the concentration to remain floating above the brutal creatures. His death was no less gruesome than those of his other fallen friends.  
By this time, the encroaching white Martians from the east began to invade the green Martians' homes. Frightened gasps could be made out as the women and children inside were soon the next victims of the merciless white Martians. Screams echoed from within the dwellings. J'onn turned in horror to see the white monsters pillaging his and others' homes. The advancing white Martians capitalize on J'onns momentary paralysis. They charge him from behind, knocking him to the ground, as a multitude of white Martians pile onto him. Many claw, and bite at him as he struggles for freedom.  
"My'riah!", J'onn yelled out, to the top of his lungs.  
With an abundant amount of weight atop him, he still managed to fly upwards, unimagineably enraged. Many colorless beasts lose their grip and fall back to the dusty surface, while others still cling to his legs and sides. J'onn places his middle and index fingers against his temples, as he focuses with unbelievable intensity. The mental stress was clear when his eyes began to glow a blindingly bright red. Veins popped from his head and neck, muscles tightened and flexed. In a matter of seconds a mental shockwave blasts from around him. The white Martians still holding onto him fall to their deaths from the lethal mental discharge. Various thuds occur rapidly as the pale beasts below die from the psionic attack. All across the planet, white Martians are killed, victims of J'onn's mental retaliation. J'onn slowly descends, before passing out and falling to the ground, unconscious from the intense cerebrial assault. His red eyes leaked blood from them, as well as his eardrums and nose, staining the ground around him.  
The ash continually falls, covering the scene a quarter inch every half hour.  
Half of the planet was veiled in the grey ash clouds. Over a foot of ash had collected since the intial eruption of Olympus Mons.

J'onn awoken, dazed and confused. Almost six inches of ash fell from him as he lifted himself up, intially stumbling as he tried to stand. He coughed violently for a few moments, evacuating the acrid soot from his lungs. Slowly regaining his mental faculties, he raced for his home not twenty-five feet away. Inside he found a couple dead white Martians. Fearfully, racing for the sleeping chamber, he spotted the bloodied bodies of his wife and daughter, both murdered by the white Martians. He screamed out loud enough to echo past the nearby mountain ranges. Falling to his knees, he grasped their bodies, hugging them tightly as tears wash away the blood stains from his cheecks. Their bodies were noticeably cold, having been deceased for some hours at this point.  
An hour or so later, he emerged from his dwelling, and mentally read out for any survivors, not just in his local settlement, but across Mars itself. He got no reply.  
Every Martian upon the face of Mars was dead, except for J'onn J'onzz. He is the last of his kind.

**Three months earlier**

Dozens of green Martians gathered around one another, each adorned with pale blue robes. They uttered vocally with an air of reverency that placed them above other Martians. Inside a massive stone structure, they were positioned around a circular table, one made of a regal wood. No chairs were placed around it, however.  
Their gathering seemed anything but leisurely.  
"What are we to do?!", a Martian asked with fear in his voice.  
"The prophecy speaks of H'ronmeers annihilation on the eve of Mars' end."  
"Annihilation?"  
"Tremors, however infrequent, have been occuring in these past few seasons."  
"Quiet!", one Martian requests of the group, further stating, "There is no true proof that the white Martians will attempt such a brazen assault."  
"'The white devils will usurp the land, killing all in their path. H'ronmeer shall quake and gush forth a mighty veil. The skies will blacken, and the waters will boil. Fire will consume what the white devils fail to destroy. Mars' one true race shall perish', hasn't the prophecy already proven itself?", a slender green Martian quoted.  
"Our scrupulousness shall be our doom! Not some superstitious heresy!", another Martian declared of the prophecy.  
"Manhunter J'onn J'onzz, what are your feelings?", the apparent group conductor inquired.  
"What are we to lose from airing on the side of caution?", J'onn stated rhetorically, "However, what are to do in preventing the prophecy, if it be true?", he continued, addressing their true obstacle.  
Silence filled the room as the assemblies members looked at one another.  
"My brother is correct. Our decisions are irrelevant, what shall be, shall be. We can do no more to prevent such a disaster than we could cause the skies to rain down water!"  
"Both J'onn and Ma'ale'fek present a good argument."  
"Then it is decided. We will not be reconvening until after the fall harvests. I hope to see you all once more.", the Martian leader declared.  
A robotic humanoid stood guard at the circular rooms exit. As the Martians departed this chamber of discussion, they positioned their robes into the arms of the ten foot robot. Assembled with materials not unlike titanium, the android seemed well built. A noticeable trait of the robot was its glowing blue eyes. There were hardly seems in the metal covering him, yet his movements were smooth, and flowed with an articulation as if it were alive.  
"My creation is truly a marvel, is it not, brother?", the bulky green Martian known as Ma'ale'fek proposed.  
"Its construction was not exclusive to you.", J'onn replied, removing his robe, revealing his red harness underneath.  
"No, it was a group effort by the science guild, through the stern dedication of myself, and others. Tor has uses far beyond our imagination.", Ma'ale'fek responded pridefully.  
"I would hope.", stated J'onn as he glanced back at Tor, the robotic Martian holding the ceremonial robes.  
"You doubt me, brother? Tor is indestructible! Made from the precious Martian elements from beneath the sediments of our past, he shall exist after our descendants are long gone.", the enigmatic brother of J'onn J'onzz described.  
"You, my brother, are a novelty. The one Martian in existence to be absent the mental root of telepathy, and it seems as though that if I could probe your mind, my confusion would still have no resolve.", J'onn determined boldly, but with an inflection of jest in his voice.  
Ma'ale'fek was dismayed by the remark relating to his mental inadequacies, rebuttaling ambiguously, "Brother, you cannot begin to truly understand me. What is considered a malformity among our race, is alternatively a blessing in disguise."

J'onn J'onzz began his journey home, back into rural mountains in the west. Ma'ale'fek on the other hand, stood between the stone pillars at the assembly buildings exit. All other Martians had long departed, leaving Ma'alefek to stew on the conflict previously discussed.  
Many hours had passed. Ma'ale'fek's attention was directed just above the large round table. The air felt heavy, as rays of light peering in from dilapidated ceiling twisted and distorted. Suddenly thunderous rumbling echoed throughout the structure. The stone roof began to further crumble, as large chunks fell down upon the sacred table. One large boulder in particular cracks the solemn wood at the tables center. A dark portal ripped open above the table, wrapped in a pulsating white light. Ma'ale'fek expressed no surprise, or fear. Instead, only a smile graced his face.  
A hulking figure forges out of the portal. Stepping onto the prized ceremonial table, the sound of his footsteps reverberated throughout the chamber.  
Sturdily built, his appearance was incredibly powerful. His arms were thick and strong, with an upper body to match. His skin was like that of a rough stone, with various cracks and dimples. Around his head a helmet securely conformed, covering all but his face. A sleeveless garment wrapped around his powerful abdomen. Further down, a thick silver belt fixed around his waist attached to his front and back, a loincloth between his legs that extended down just above his knees. Underneath the cloth he wore thin black armor, fitted tightly around his legs. Gloves made of a peculiar material, akin to an animals hide masked his hands, part way up his forearms. Thick and durable boots fit uniformly up to his knees. As the light from the portal dissipated, the dark blue color of his attire became apparent.  
His eyes illuminated red, while embers escaped over his strong brow.  
The sound of stones grating against one another emanated from the intimidating figure as he inquired of the green Martian, "Have you located what I had requested, Ma'ale'fek?", his voice boomed.  
"Yes, my ruler! H'ronmeer is soon to decimate the land. The white Martians will attack when it does! This is the Anti-Life Equation!", Ma'ale'fek answered, with misplaced pride.  
The menacing being snarled his upper lip, "You pathetic waste of flesh. You misunderstand the brilliance of Anti-Life. Only by bringing a worlds population to its knees, will the Anti-Life Equation reveal itself." he spoke, incredulous at the green Martians ignorance. "Now that the events are set in motion, I no longer require your services.", he continued.  
Ma'ale'fek had a cold sweat come over him. Before he could even plea for mercy, the ruthless figure's eyes burn from a bright red, to a searing white before red hot beams shoot from them. Ma'ale'fek turns, attempting escape. The beams bend in mid air, twisting and turning as they reached the frantic Martian just before the exit. They incinerate his midsection, as he falls to the ground gasping for air. He dies a moment later, as blood pools from his abdomen, and around the titanium feet of the android, Tor.  
The portal above the table re-opens with a thunderous roar, and the malevolent being leaves the same way he came.

At J'onn's home, in the western valley, his senses became overwhelmed. His mind was flooded with the memories and hopes of Ma'ale'fek, his brother. At that moment, he realized his brother's true nature and the grim motions he had set into place. He knew that his brother was now dead.

**1951, Boulder, Colorado**

"Let us commend Laura Kay Erdel to the mercy of God. For she lived a happy life, joyous and loving. As a wife and daughter, she will be missed dearly as she enters into the gates of Heaven.", a fervent Catholic Priest declared solemnly, Bible in hand, at the head of a casket covered in a few bushel of flowers. To the Priests right, and left were only a handful of people. One man in particular grieved with the intensity to make known how great his loss was. Joining him was an elderly couple. They three were undoubtedly the husband, and parents of the deceased woman. Surrounding them were only a few other relatives and friends.  
It was a cloudy, cold morning as the casket and the passed loved one inside was lowered into her final resting place. Tears drained from the eyes of her husband, while others could only offer their deepest sympathies to him.  
"We therefore commit Laura's body to the ground, Earth to Earth, dust to dust, ashes to ashes; in the sure and certain hope of the Resurrection to eternal life.", the saddened Priest proclaimed.  
As the burial concluded, the few friends and family offered Saul their deepest condolences.

Returning home, Saul felt the overwhelming fear of isolation, as the house was dark and quiet. The silence, the abscence of his wifes cheerful greetings on his return home from work consumed him to the point of a near mental breakdown.  
That night, he laid down in his bed, all to himself. He wept for many more hours until the soothing summer rainfall lulled him to sleep.

The Earth fractures. Cracks seep globally, west to east, pole to pole until a dense quaking rattles humanity to the breaking point. Saul makes a mad dash down his neighborhood street, living no more than a quater mile from the heart of the city. The sun parts the clouds, shining blood red rays down upon the world. The sky surrounding turns as dark as an abyss. The stars above blinked their last comfort of light as even the reddened sun is overwhelmed by the darkness. Saul, frightened beyond belief, glances in every direction at the incredible sight. Visibility was next to none before the sky lit up once more by an ominous white hue that swirled like the veil of a curtain twisting in a near circulation formation. Before he can even begin to fathom what is happening, he is startled by the presence of someone in front of him. Bypassing the intial shock, he recognizes who it is.  
"Saul, I'm so sorry.", Laura, his deceased wife says to him.  
Befuddled by her presence, he stumbles with his words and emotions as he attempts to grasp her around his arms with joy and confusion. He never seems to have the will to move a muscle. Standing there, tears trickle down both of their faces.  
"W-What is happening?", he asks in a curiously calm tone.  
"You have to build it, Saul.", replys Laura, coldly.  
"Build? Build what?", he pondered with emotion, as the sky cracked and rumbled violently.  
"Build it with your heart, my love.", his wife responds with a dose of overwhelming sadness.  
"I don't understand-", Saul begins, as the quaking above nearly drowns him out.  
"I love you.", she states sweetly as she is nearly inaudible by the thundering roars.  
Saul runs towards her, arms spread as she shatters before his eyes, like a window pane when a rock flies through it. So unnerved by this, he drops to the ground in such emotional pain that the noise around him seems to stop. Time itself stands still. The buildings flashfoward and crumble around him, the asphalt roads bubble and melt away. The planets vegetation is a set ablaze. Truly, it is hell on Earth.  
Saul Erdel raises his head to see two red suns boiling the Earth to a barren wasteland.

Lunging outward, he stumbled in darkness. A feeling of pure detatchement set in. Crippled by fear, he could bearly move. Minutes passed before he saw the innocent, pale moonlight from a window. He had fallen out of his bed from the apparent night terror. Drenched in sweat, he breathed heavy sighs of comfort and thanksgiving as he stood, looking out from his window beside his bed. He soon noticed the whole time, he had his wifes Bible from her nightstand clutched tightly in his hand.

**1955**

Dr. Saul Erdel, an astrophysicist, a man of great knowledge began work on a vacuum chamber he had constructed from almost scratch. By ionizing particles with gamma radiation he had built what the rest of the universe is now aware of to be Zeta Beam technology. Dr. Erdel is a man of science. In his tireless work, and needless perfection of his studies, has grown to be quite a lonesome person. Avoiding human interaction as much as possible, he is the epitome of self-isolation. On-lookers would almost ponder that it is more of his preference to be alone. Dr. Erdel is misunderstood in a sense. At least he feels that way.  
Saul Erdel was of short stature, and in his sixties. And he was going to soon have some unexpected company.  
His laboratory was lit by fluorescent lightbulbs, which gave the room a dull and depressing glow of yellow, accentuated by the blank white walls surrounding Dr. Erdel. Such an enviroment does not lend itself to a proper outward appearance, but more that of a prisoner in a chamber. Dr. Erdel seemed quite comfortable in such a place, though.

He connected the last of the cables to a circuit board that housed one single switch. A switch that will activate all of his efforts for the past four years. He pauses for a brief moment to take in the gravitas of his next move, and flipped the switch. The vacuum, seven feet wide, twelve feet tall, and of a round circumference is suddenly jolted by multiple bolts of electricity spreading around the tube faster than that of cracking glass. The electricity emitted a ambianced hue of blue and curious sparks of green and red throughout his laboratory. Such things might frighten the average person, but not a scientist, not one as passionate and devoted as Saul Erdel. His eyes widened in amazement and bewilderment. He was obviously not expecting such a light show. A surge of electricity, like a bolt of lighting, blasts through the glass door of the vacuum chamber. Dr. Erdel can feel the pressure from the vacuum release around him. Suddenly, the electrical pulses almost appeared to crawl out of the vacuum and whip out around his laboratory. One bolt thrashed towards him, striking instead the circuit board in front of him, essentially destroying it and preventing him from shutting off his dangerous machine.  
Dr. Erdel shows a visible paleness of fear, that clearly has him in its thrall. The vacuum chamber seems erratic and unstoppable. The ionizing tubes at the top of the vacuum appear to leak smoke or some cloudy vapor that rippled down to the floor, billowing around the room and rising. From the inner top of the vacuum, to its base, a blinding white supercharged beam pulsated causing intense vibrations and shaking in the lab. A chalk board falls, along with various scientific equipment placed upon adjacent counter-tops. The lights flickered briefly, and then go out altogether, with only the electrical pulses illuminating the room.  
Schematics pinned to a bulletin board show in the glowing irredescence of the electricity, that this vacuum tubes intended use is actually a teleportation chamber with a coordinance set on Mars.  
The beam in the vacuum tube revealed cracks in the white of a shadowy nature and are soon outlined in an obvious figure of something that shattered all of Dr. Saul Erdel's preconcieved notions of humanity and its singular place in the universe. Dr. Erdel huddled down behind the desk that once held the working circuit board.  
A nine and a half foot figure steps out of the tube. Its cranium is like that of a humans, exaggerated and elongated, similar to the ancient Incas, who would reshape they're offsprings skull to give an exaggerated cone effect. In Dr. Saul Erdels quick glance at this creature, he particularly noticed it's protruding forhead, almost giving it the appearance of horns. It's blood red eyes lend only further to its sinister appearance.

Dr. Erdel heard it speak, "You have done well, Er'del.", it uttered in a deep reverberating tone, that seemed to have no point of origin, but rather it was coming from everywhere at once.  
The scientist felt a faintness overpowering him. He clutched his chest, noticing a numbing sensation and a constant tightening and loosening of his muscles. He tasted almost a tinge of copper in the air. He was having a heart-attack. As Dr. Erdel began to fall over onto the dark, cold concrete floor, the creature which Dr. Erdel assumed, and correctly, to be of Martian origin lunged towards him. It lowered him softly to the ground, as if to prevent injury from his intial fall. The Martian gave an air of concern for Dr. Erdel, but this did little to comfort Saul at this point. He was becoming weak, and was dying. The Martian seemed aware of this.  
"L-La-", Saul attempted to say.  
The Martian spoke again, "I am sorry, Saul Er'del.", but this only frightened Dr. Erdel more, until finally, he became still and passed.  
The Martian rose, after gently laying Dr. Saul Erdel to the floor, and conveyed a sense of remorsefulness by hanging his head low at his nearly ten foot height.

With the laboratory vacant off all Earthly life, the Martian made it his mission to become accustom to this new world. Upon leaving the science facility where Dr. Erdel performed his astounding experiments, the Martian became bewildered by the snow on the ground, and its subsequent free-fall from the clouds above. The being steps underneath a street light, and his full appearance is revealed.  
He had a humanoid figure, and his skin was a olive green color, textured similarly to leather with many protrusions parallel to his hip joints and extending protuberances along the elbow and shoulder joints. Situated around his shoulders and sides is a red harness. It is J'onn, the last son of Mars.  
He raised his hand to catch the falling snow flakes, as many slip through his four long, slender fingers that had swollen looking bends. A sight he was familiar with. One snowflake begins to melt in his hand, and he sees something he hasn't seen in a very long time; water. Cars began to drive down the road parallel to the science facility, so J'onn took on the form of Dr. Saul Erdel quickly.  
He walked down the side of the road for over a half an hour, before a passing motorist pulled to the side.  
"Need a ride?", the courteous man asked, after having rolled down the passenger side window of his 1944 pickup truck.  
"Yes.", J'onn stated blankly in the guise of Dr. Saul Erdel.  
"What are ya doing out here?", the hospitable man wondered as Erdel got in the passenger side seat of the truck.  
"My automobile broke down, and I needed to get home.", Erdel spoke plainly.  
"And where is home?", the motorist inquired as he pulled back onto the darkened road.  
"Far from here.", J'onn, in the form of Dr. Erdel, answered with wistful sentiment.

**Several months later**

The resounding burst of a gunshot rung out in a poorly lit storage facility.  
The room was quite expansive, but it felt very enclosed as crates and boxes were littered about with almost no organization. Lamps dangled from the sixteen foot ceiling at sparse intervals.  
"Did you get a look at em', John?", a man dressed in a trench coat and fedora, with a fine suit underneath, asked of another outfitted similarly.  
"No. I can hardly see a thing in here.", John explained.  
The other man reached under his trench coat for a Colt Official Pistol from his holster. Inside his coat, a detectives badge gleamed in what little light the room had.  
"John, the chief will have your head on a silver platter for not carrying your gun with ya.", the anonymous Detective whispered of his partner.  
"You would like that wouldn't you, Richard? Besides, I don't need one.", John humored, just before both Detectives jerked into the direction of a quick passing shadow.  
"So I've heard.", Richard replied. "You flank to the right, and I'll corner h-", he continued, stopping mid sentence at the sight of John darting off into the darkness in wild pursuit of the perpetrator. "John!", he whispered with exclaimation.  
John saw the silhouette running from him, and had enough time to notice his tall stature, as he could see him above the various stacks of boxes and furniture, twisting and turning down the different cramped aisles. Before long, the maverick detective realized he was losing ground on the perpetrator. Stopping in his tracks to watch as the shadow squirmed down tight passageways near the southwest corner of the facility. Like a ghost, John ran through a considerable amount of stacked boxes. Vanishing through one side, and coming out the other, he soon cornered the panicked trespasser, and tackled him to the ground. During the scuffle, the intruders weapon had been dislodged from his grasp and tossed across the room. The trespasser jerked around on the floor before his gaze was frantically set upon the eyes of John as they turned red as blood. Richard arrived just in time to see his bold partners apprehension of the armed crook.  
"This the burglar?", Richard inquired of the criminal.  
"The pockets full of stolen personal affects from the boxes in here seem to point to that.", John determined, pulling small trinkets and jewelry of varying value from the perpetrators pockets, while his eyes transitioned back to a normal brown color.  
Terror stricken, the gun toting delinquent stammered out nothing more than syllables after looking into the scarlet red eyes of his captor. John handcuffed him, as he and Richard lifted him up from the ground.

Stepping out of the storage facility, perpetrator handcuffed, the two detectives placed him in the back of their undercover Hudson Pacemaker police vehicle. John was awestruck by the clear night sky above. His attention was specifically directed at the red glow of a star in the south. With his back turned toward his partner, John stifled a sob as his eyes turned blood red for a moment.  
Richard took notice of his stargazing, and commented, "Man, that star is red!"  
John's eyes returned to a normal brown color before responding, "It is not a star. It's Mars."  
"Really?", Richard questioned rhetorically. "John Jones, you're just full of surprises.", he jested.


	2. JL Chapter 2: A Fearful Conscience

**Chapter Two - A Fearful Conscience**

**Present Day, Gotham City**

In the decrepit slums of Gothams southern most district, a girl screamed for help.  
The shadows were thick as the sun had set, with nothing more than the occasional street light illuminating the way down the ragged roads. The ground was moist from a recent rainfall. Steam billowed from multiple storm drains, revealing a cold temperature had spread throughout.  
In an alley way between a condemned apartment building with multiple stories, and several various shops located within a complex, two figures stood, one petite and feminine, the other was large, and intimidating. The silhouette of the brute was noticeably more aggressive, as the figure shoved the girl against the back wall of the abandoned apartment building.  
"You're far too pretty to be walking through twelth district like this, all dolled up.", the antagonizing male figure determined with a vile inflection.  
The girl was young, no older than eighteen, with blonde hair, and a fare complexion. She is wearing rather modest clothing, much to the aggressive mans disdain.  
"Why you tryin' to hide such a curvy figure?", the grimey looking man asked rhetorically with a nasty smile.  
The young woman tried to pry away from his grip around her shoulders, which caused him to pull of her jacket. In her desperation, she began pleading for him to let her go. He ignored her, as he brazenly attempted to tear off her grey blouse. She wimpered, crying out for help.  
A local shopkeeper in the adjacent complex burst from it's rear wall, switching on the light above his stores back door, partially illuminating the scene. He is intially startled by the sight. The perverted thug whipped his head around to see the interruption.  
The store owner was wearing a white overcoat with bloodstains, and holding a meat cleaver. A butcher no doubt.  
The butcher raised his cleaver at the thug.  
"Stay outta this.", the hoodlum demanded, retaliating by pulling a 9mm handgun from his large, almost cumbersome jacket.  
The girl sobs violently at the sight of the weapon.  
The butcher freezes with understandable cowardice as he flees back into his meat shop, calling the police no doubt.  
The young woman screams, "No!", as her one chance of rescue vanishes.  
Agitated, the man slides his handgun back into the pocket inside his bulky jacket. Within a second his lustful demeanor returns.  
Above the alley way, a shadow was cast as a wide silhouette flies above them. The helpless girl catches a glimpse of it, but her aggressor doesn't take notice. The shadow looms overhead on the deteriorated apartment building. Within an instant the tangible shadow lept downward, spreading widely what appeared to be a wing span. The figure was almost silent, save for a slight gust of wind as it glided downwards. The thug stood still at the presence of something behind him. His spine tightened with fright, as he felt piercing eyes behind him. The girl gasped violently in between her sobbing at the sight of searing white eyes behind the hoodlum. That damn perverted degenerate jerked his arm pulling out his gun from his jacket once more, swinging it out wide behind him as he began to turn around. His arm was impaled with multiple spiked prongs from a wrist guard of the mysterious masked man. The sudden pain causes the gunman to discharge his handgun prematurely as he screams from the injury, coincidentally shooting the light at the back exit of the butcher shop, shrouding the dark figures appearance. The girl shrieked from the concussive blast of the weapon.  
"Who the f-", the gun-wielding hoodlum questions viciously in between his spoutings of agony, before he is interrupted by the intimidating figure in front of him twisting his bleeding arm behind his back until it snaps. The gun flies out of his hand, landing ten or so feet away from them. Blood trickled down the man's wounded arm and into a puddle in the alley way. The disguised figure then thrusted the lustful criminal into the brick wall of the apartment building. A muzzled crack is audible as the gunman fractured his cheek bone against the brick wall of the adjacent building, though a more severe punishment was regrettably avoided that night.  
He fell to the ground, unconscious from the abrupt and brutal impact. The girl, her eyes widened in shock and fear, slid from against the wall of the apartment to the ground of alley. She didn't even glance at her mysterious rescuer, as he stands in front of her. With no light but from a veiled moon, his outline is ambiguously defined. He reached his gloved hand out towards the young girl, whose face had streaks of tears fleeing from her eyes. She raised her head to look at her savior to only see the outline of horns atop his head. Cowering in fear, she lunged back tightly against the back wall of the apartment, shaking. The masked figure is visibly apprehensive due to the girl's trembling. Drawing his hand back as he looked down the south facing end towards the Monarch Theater. He glared at it for a few moments before once again offering the girl help in standing. She flinches at the proximity of the veiled figure.  
"It's okay, don't be frightened.", the girl's rescuer stated with a commanding, but soft demeanor.  
The girl felt slightly more comforted, but she was still visibly terrified. She begrudgingly extended her hand outward as the darkened guardian clinched her hand in his and rose her to her feet with ease. The girl noticed at a cursory glance that her rescuer sported a cape, or cloak adhered somewhere around his shoulder joints. The cape appeared to be made of a sturdy, yet free-flowing material, with several pointed convergings flowing behind his dark boots as he walked. To the girls ear, he made not a sound in his movements. Her hands were still shaking, a strap on her blouse was torn, and she showed no further emotion than that of the surreality of the situation as she followed at a distance behind him. He stopped and grabbed for some type of device attached to his back beneath his billowing cape. The girl was startled, as the mechanism looked similar to that of a handgun. He aimed it upwards towards the overhanging lip of the apartment building, and fired the device. A grappling hook discharged quietly from the contraption. The masked protector stretched his arm out to her, gesturing for her to come to his side. She reluctantly advanced towards him, clinging one arm around his side, and the other over his shoulder as he activated a switch on the mechanism. It pulled them upward near the roof of the apartment at a moderate speed. The girls grip around her rescuer tightened as their feet left the ground. Just before reaching the overhang of the roof, he swung both himself and the girl onto a fire escape at the third floor, one story short of the roof. He pressed a trigger on the device, and the hooks on the grapple flattened out from the eaves of the rooftop, and another flip of the first switch, and it retracts from above, coiling back into the grappling gun smoothly. Reaching the fire escape, the girl the lunged beside the window of the third floor apartment, away from the railings and the masked man. Out of the shadows of the alley way, she took notice of her rescuers appearance.  
He was fully covered in black armor. His face was concealed by a blackened cowl, with two sharp protusions each coming to a point on top of the left and right side of his head. The thin layer of the lower half of the cowl came to a point over his noise, having only his mouth, and lower jaw-line visible. On his chest was the engraving of a bat with it's wings spread. On each arm were three pronounced razor like prongs, the right ones still bore the thugs blood on them. Around his waist was a dull gold colored belt. From his shoulders down to his feet hung his cape with tipped ends. The girl marveled at the clear sight of her savior.  
"The police will be here soon, just stay here until they arrive.", he told to the terrified girl.  
She tried to speak. At first she failed to vocalize anything, but another attempt proved fruitful, "Th-thank you.", she replied determinedly, with a crack in her voice due to her frightful screams for help. The girl questioned with a small inflection of intimidation in her exhausted voice, "Who are you?"  
"That's not important.", the vigilante noted.  
Sirens quickly became audible in the distance, grabbing the girls attention as she looked towards their proximity, and away from the masked man. Not out of her sight for a couple of seconds, and upon turning to look back at her dark suited rescuer, she was surprised to see he had vanished from sight. Darting her eyes around looking for any sign of him, she caught no more than a glimpse of a shadow grazing the far right rooftop of the shopping complex.

Minutes later a police vehicle makes arrived at the theater, and the two officers began walking, flash-lights in hand, down the alley way. One officer had his gun drawn, while the other's right hand is placed tightly on his firearm, as if ready to be removed from it's holster. The two policemen begin to aim their flash-lights through the alley way, soon discovering the unconcious perpetrator.  
"What the...", an officer remarked under his breath regarding the bloodied aggressor. "Where's the girl?", he continued.  
The butcher slowly opened the back door of his meat shop, and stepped into the alley. He attracted the sudden attention of the officers as the one pointed his gun at him, while the other officer started to grasp his.  
"Woah!", the meat shop owner exclaimed, raising his arms in the air.  
"Are you the guy who called us?", one of the policemen inquired.  
"Yeah," the butcher answerd. "Don't shoot!", he added nervously.  
"Where's the girl?", the cop questioned, as he and his partner holstered their handguns.  
"I don't know, I heard tons of racket out back here, and came out with my meat cleaver. This guy taking advantage of a girl turns around and points a gun at my head! So I ran back inside and called you guys.", the meat shop butcher detailed, continuing, "A little bit later I heard a gun shot, and more racket."  
The policemen examined the unconscious thug, finding his arm to be broken in two places, gashes through the sleeve of his jacket, deep into his arm, and a thoroughly bruised and bloodied face.  
"Then who the hell beat this perv to a bloody pulp?", the officer challenged for an explaination.  
Rustling noises above catch the unnerved attention of the officers and the butcher. They look to see the girl, three stories up. Her make-up had ran down her face from the constant tears she shed while being victimized by her aggressor.  
"A man saved me," she explained, "a man dressed like a bat! He flew away a few minutes ago!", she expressed with reluctant excitement.  
One officer looked at the other, saying, "This is why I want a transfer, Harry."

**Gotham City Police Department**

"Name's Jessie Carmille.", a luggish detective determined to the police commissioner, as they both stood in front of a one-way mirror that, inside a interrogation room that held the young girl.  
"And she claims a man dressed like a 'bat' saved her?", the stoutly, older commissioner inquired further.  
"She can claim all she wants. Drug testing still an hour off.", the detective explained, adjusting his badge from around his neck.  
"Thanks, Harvey."  
The Commissioner briskly walked into the interrogation room with the girl. With a tender smile, he greeted the girl, who was absent of the same debilitating fear that gripped her previously.  
"My name is James Gordon. I'm just going to ask you a few questions, is that alright?", he asked of the unusually calm girl, Jessie.  
"Sure," she affirmed, continuing, "Are you going to ask me about Gothams archangel?", Jessie pondered boldly.  
Police Commissioner James Gordon was so taken aback by her statement that he leaned back in his chair and placed his hand over his mouth, combing his white mustache down as he once again positioned his hands together onto the table between him and the girl. Carefully planning his next statement, he responded, "How did a nice young girl like yourself end up in "Crime Alley" tonight?", as if oblivious to her question.  
Piecing together the events leading up her rescue, "I was walking home-". she began before Gordon interjected.  
"Where is that?", he asked.  
"On seventh street."  
"Continue."  
"Well, I was walking home from a movie at the Monarch.", she explained.  
"And you cut through Crime Alley to get to seventh street?"  
"Yes."  
"This man, Gerald Folchner, approached you?", Gordon asked rhetorically, waving a mugshot of her offender.  
She became visibly unnerved by his picture, having only the courage to confirm his identity with a nod. "Don't you wanna talk about who saved me?", Jessie wondered of the Commissioner.  
"I would like to know, yes. But perhaps you would feel more comfortable talking about it to Jonathan Crane. He's a psychiatrist, and I believe he can help you sort all of this out. You've been through a lot tonight, it would do you some good.", James responded, in an exasperated tone initially before he reflected a sense of concern for the girls mental well-being.  
Jessie Carmille only sighed, realizing that no one believed her.  
"Jonathan's here tonight, and I'd like for you to have a talk with him before you leave. Okay, miss?", Commissioner Gordon decided.  
Hanging her held low, she agreed.

Several minutes after Gordon had left the room, Jessie began to survey her surroundings.  
The walls had ceramic white tiles that noticeably yellowed over time, excluding the one-way mirror on the wall across from her. The ceiling offered two strips of fluorescent lights that flickered occassionally. Tarnished concrete for the floor completed the interrogation room as the creeking steel door opened once more.  
"Hello, there.", a tall man said, presumably the psychiatrist the Commissioner mentioned, Jonathan Crane.  
Parting his short hair, he removed his glasses and placed them in his coat pocket. His eyes were a staunch baby blue. As he set down his briefcase, Jessie noticed that his hands were incredibly calloused. Especially for a person whose job requires no more physical activity than to shuffle papers around.  
Jessie greeted him with a quiet tone.  
"There's no need for shyness," Jonathan started, as he thumbed through a file he had carried in, "Jessie."  
"I know why you're here.", she commented blankly.  
"And why is that?"  
"You're here to see whether or not I'm crazy. But I'm not.", Jessie voiced in her defense.  
"You don't strike me as a crazy person, Jessie.", he replied with a hollow smirk, "However, I do believe you have had quite the stressful day.", Jonathan continued.  
"You think I saw what I did because of stress?", she wondered, incredulous at his assumption.  
"I very well believe it is possible. Do you know how often people claim they see things, but they aren't really there?", he questioned rhetorically, stating further, "Often. When fear has its vice like grip around you, your mind begins to play tricks with your fears. What are your fears, Jessie?"  
She paused briefly, giving the question her full attention. "I'm afraid of death.", admitted the young girl.  
"And don't you think that maybe your mind created what it wanted most? A saviour? It doesn't matter the form it took, but it took root in your mind all the same.", Jonathan defined with an almost condescending tone.  
The girl kept quiet, and gave no rebuttal to his affront on her sanity initially.  
"Do you see now? It was just all in your head. If you really think about it, you will come to realize just how silly something like a 'bat-man' truly is.", the psychiatrist claimed.  
After a short moment, Jessie retorted, "But how do you account for my attackers injuries, then?"  
Jonathan Crane slashed his eyes up at the girl from the paperwork that had his attention. Minutely furrowing his brow, he said not a word more. Retrieving his briefcase from under the table, he put his glasses back on as he left the room.


	3. JL Chapter 3: Heaven and Hell

**Chapter Three - Heaven and Hell**

**New Genesis**

A Golden city, floating above a lush and vegative world filled with all kinds of exotics beings. But none more than those of New Genesis. The architecture is beyond comprehension. Complex yet simple, unimagineable to eyes unfamiliar. Clouds of a pale white gave a clear aperture of the sky as they hang low just under the surface of the city, invoking the true sense of how high above New Genesis is from the planet below. All is peaceful and serene. Going to and fro across the skyward city are its citizens; marked by garments of many pastel colors, clipped at every edge with a layer of gold from the cuffs of each sleeve, to the needle work at the knitted ends of childrens scarves. There is not an unkempt person in sight. Nothing is without polish or a pristine finish. The walkways are of marble, and are guarded by young trees, pruned to perfection at specific intervals along each side. Every building is interconnected by bridges of white and silver. The serenity of this paradise is soon disrupted as passersby notice a man in white with red hair, that was accentuated by red cuffed boots, flying twenty yards above them heading for New Gensis' sanctuary. The peoples attention is drawn, but they are by no means astonished at such a sight, as it is well known that the gods in New Genesis can fly, but it is on rare occasion that they do so.  
A rare occasion indeed. Renowned for his positivity, this day he showed only gloom.  
"Look, it's Lightray!", a young boy proclaimed to his mother as they gazed into the bright sky, catching only a mere glimpse of the god.  
Today he has the stern expression of calmed panic. He arrived at the sanctuary, engaging in the presence of an elder figure.  
A man of decent age, semi-long hair, and beard as white as the clouds below them. He wore a pastel brown robe, overlaid with a sleeveless faint purple linen. Carring a golden shepherds hook with him, his reverent appearance was defined no less than thought of a god.  
Lightray addresses him with a quick bow, "Highfather! Highfather," he warned, "Apokolips has broken the treaty! What are we going to do?!"  
Highfathers rather joyous demeanor shifts visibly to one of clear decisiveness. His grandchildren draw around him for his attention and affection causing interruption.  
"Run along now, children.", Highfather says calmly in a soothing voice, while the children follow his instruction and continue they're antics farther away in the outer courtyards of the sanctuary.  
"Thank you for using your head my son, and flying here at a reasonable velocity, as to not warn others.", Highfather noted with a soft smile.  
"Highfather, what are you going to do?", stated Lightray in an obviously restrained tone.  
Highfather gave a quick dart of his eyes directly at Lightrays, and with a quick sigh he declared, "Make sure everyone gets to they're homes or to safety. Do not frighten them. Be tactful. Afterwards, gather Orion, Bekka, and Avia. I wish to speak with them upon my return."  
"Your return, Highfather? Where are you going?"  
"To Apokolips.", responded Highfather decidingly. He lifted up his shepherds hook, and tapped it upon the marble floor just outside the sanctuary. A precision cut circle circumfuranced him as the marble quickly turned into a metallic material, more akin to steel. This circular layer of steel then seperated from the rest of the floor, revealing a thickness of around a half inch, and Highfather began to lift up from the ground, soon rising far above Lightray and the sanctuary. He tapped his sheperds hook once again on his circular metal platform and a enormous portal burst open in the sky, mildly shaking the ground below, while it emitted a rousing boom as it began to open fully. Highfather continued through the portals center, which was as black as coal, while Lightray looked on from below. The portal soon closing, Lightray went on to gather those Highfather requested.

Before long, Lightray met with Orion and his wife Bekka.  
Orion was a stocky man, of a built physique. He wore a gladiators helmet that gleamed an array of colors from its sparkling silver surface. White hot eyes glared from under the headgear. Adorned in blood red battle armor, he delayed his wartime drill to speak of the urgency Lightray brought to him.  
Bekka was dressed more like that of a goddess. A white gown draped around her with thin streaks of red at the shoulds and waist. She had a glow of beauty never seen by human eyes. Approaching Lightray with the same curiousity, she seemed to be thinking the exact question Orion posed to the messenger before him;  
"What matter required such an interruption of my training?", Orion questioned indignently with a rough inflection.  
"The treaty has been breached. Darkseid has declared war.", the fast-paced messenger god responded boldly. His words carried so much weight with them that Bekka, Orion, and Lightray himself could no more grasp the full impact of such a statement than one can grasp eternity. But it was clear after a moment, that each of them knew that eternity itself was being threatened.  
"What?!", Orion exclaimed, crumpling his fists.  
"What are we to do?", Bekka wondered anxiously, clinging to her husband.  
"I am to warn Avia.", Lightray noted.  
"Stay with me. Bekka shall go to warn her.", the helmeted god determined, "You and I must prepare the armies. Where is Highfather?", he asked further.  
"He has left for Apokolips to confront-", answered Lightray as Orion interrupted him mid sentence.  
"He what?!", the muscular god Orion blasted.  
Gathering some mechanical device seemingly from thin air, he grappled the arm of Lightray as he activated the device. A whirring white portal burst forth before them, as they hurriedly ran through it.

**Apokolips**

Blood pooled onto the filth and dust covered ground of the war planet Apokolips. Highfather laid motionless, adjacent to his own blood presumeably. The hold on his staff jerked as he regained consciousness. A looming figure stood in front of him, with a throne of fire silhouetting the familiar, hulking figure of the being that once was the harbinger of death on Mars so long ago. Around them were crowds of tattered men and women. All of them bald, their faces scarred and dirt laden. Rags and sackclothe covered them, as they ravagingly reached out towards the incapacitated ruler of New Genesis. A bloodlust was visible in their eyes, as they appeared starved to the brink of death. They approached no closer than a dozen feet from their totalitarian dictator, and his immortal adversary.  
"Your covenant means nothing to me. How foolish of you to think otherwise.", Highfathers aggressor spoke decisively. "Desaad!", the hellish ruler charged.  
"Yes, lord Darkseid?", a figure answered, cloaked in a deep purple robe.  
His face was hidden from view under a hood. The only visible part of the apparent servant was his boil-ridden hands, with long and dirty fingernails extending from each digit. He had a sinister aura coming off of him, one that sent chills up Highfathers spine, even through his delerium.  
"Let the Hunger Dogs have their feast!", the mighty being Darkseid declared with a grin.  
Highfather rose using his staff to assist him, as his feet became soaked in his own blood.  
"Where is Scott Freeman? Where is my son? Or have you forgotten our pact?", Highfather asked harshly, with a rhetoric his adversary clearly had no patience for.  
"Your bastard child returned nothing to my empire, save for attempts at escape, and in return, you have turned my son into a grovelling lowly that thirsts for the blood of war, but never tastes it. So Highfather, what good then is our covenant?", Darkseid snarled, his voice rumbling throughout. Fiery embers escaped from his eyes as he sat on his throne of flames. Desaad slithered backwards, kneeling beside Darkseids heels.  
"I have sacrificed much.", Highfather quietly spoke, staring towards the ground as blood dripped from his mouth and the many lacerations on his face.  
"And now, you shall pay the ultimate sacrifice.", the hellish ruler of Apokolips declared, reaching his gloved hand outward, abruptly clinching his fist.  
The surrounding hordes of starving slaves and servants waited no further as they dashed towards Highfather.  
Screeches echoed from above as demonic flying beasts circled the area. A wide spread gust of wind swayed past all present as a colorless portal bursted open between Highfather, and the hunger crazed slaves. Racing out of the inter-dimensional gateway was Orion and Lightray. The gang of Hunger Dogs stopped in their tracks at the sight of the new gods. Darkseid, with a disgusted expression, rose from his throne of fire. Lightray dashed to hold up the barely lucid Highfather as Orion walked ever closer to the intimidator of Apokolips. The swarms of hunger crazed servants backed away once more. All was quiet, save for the roaring of the throne of flames. Darkseid stepped from his burning dais, while Desaad crawled away from the looming confrontation. Both Orion and Darkseid stopped, only three feet apart from one another. Highfather attempted to keep his emotions reserved, not to show any further weakness, but his stern expression shriveled away as the tension became gut-wrenching.  
Abruptly, Orion swung his left fist, only to have it grasped midway from Darkseids stone face. Darkseids grip on his wrist caused the ligiments within to crumple under the mighty pressure. Just short of his wrist shattering, Darkseid rammed his head into Orion's. His stone forehead cracked Orions helmet, causing him to slump over unconscious but still dangling from the ruler of Apokolips' grasp. Highfather grimaced at the brutal sight.  
"The only blood he shall taste, is his own.", the hellish being declared without mercy, tossing his brazen opponent to the ground before Highfather.  
Lightray, allowing Highfather to stand on his own, lifted Orion and dragged him through the portal back to New Genesis. Highfather glared sharply at Darkseid, as if he were peering through him. Highfather was without expression, while Darkseid appeared more than satisfied at their humiliation. The ruler of New Genesis then turned, staggering back through the portal as it closed behind him.


	4. JL Chapter 4: Aquatic Royalty

**Chapter Four - Aquatic Royalty**

**The Indian Ocean**

It is just before sunrise over the calm seas in the Bab-el-Mandeb strait between the countries of Somalia and Yemen. Clouds in the distance, however, are bulging a vicious storm at their hearts. Convexing at an impending angle eastward following twenty miles per hour wind gusts.  
Under the waters is a much different sight. Teeming with varying types of sea-life, including one so very unfamiliar to the rest of the world; Atlanteans. Near the bottom of the strait, 16 fathoms below the surface, there are men standing and breathing just as commonly as we breathe air, expressing in a diligent manner a matter of apparent urgency. Five of them show signs of regal outfitting, while the sixth man's upper body is bare and muscular. He has an aura of dominance and authority that makes it seem like the other Atlanteans are beneath him in terms of rank. There is obviously a hierarchy system at play here. With his long golden blonde hair with quiet shades of auburn around the underlying roots, all converging past his shoulders. His ears become visible occasionally from the change in current of the water repositioning his long golden hair. A thick beard covers the lower half of his jaw, roughing up his appearance even further. His skin color is that of a crisped peach white, another difference from that of his companions, whose skin is slightly darker, clearly more olive colored in pigment. This royal figure is once again segregated from his accompaniment by his staunch gold bracelets fitted around his massive forearms. From hip-to-toe his garb is form fitting, and of a dark green pigmentation, with armored like etchings layered over indentions. Sharp green fins on his calf muscles work as an extension of his defectless swimming prowess. In between his upper body's hulking physique, and his shielded leggings, a golden belt wraps around his waist. In its center, the belt has a triangular formation with engravings of simplistic design. Of such a firm color of gold, his belt almost has an irridescent quality. Polished to perfection along with his trident in his left hand, three-pronged and of a lethality that asserts his royalty all the more.  
His group is set apart by their matching garments and armored wear, which is of a grey like, almost lavender saturation. No gold reflects from them. These men are armored heavily, and carrying all types of blades. They are assembled each with the same, or similar head gear. They look almost like soldiers, or royal guards.  
The scene on the ocean floor where they are standing, is one of beauty. The sand a softened tan, imbued with a blue tint by the light reflecting through the ocean water. Grand amounts of sea-life swarm among the group of men, from a large manta ray disrupted from under a thin layer of sand by the presence of these Atlanteans, to a magnanimous coral reef, along with various species of fish proceeding by. The outer walls of rock are thirty meters high, parallel to one another make up the outline of the Bab-el-Mandeb strait.  
These Atlantean guards are clearly expressing themselves forcefully, making a case for something to this man of royalty. These men are not speaking vocally, but telepathically. In water, sound waves cannot be expressed clearly enough, for without air, any noise you make is far too disrupted by the water to be understood. They have understandably evolved the ability of telepathy as a far better way of communication. Underwater, it is essential.  
"Sire, I feel we are on a fools-errand!", one of the guards stated telepathically, in reserved defiance.  
The royal, without speaking, conveyed a sense of austerity from within his diaphragm, "I was informed of a breach in this area. I shall not leave until I discover its point of origin and it is sealed."  
"A breach from the land-dwellers?", a guard communicated incredulously, curiously looking to see that of a small fishing boat above, and a second vessel twice as large approaching it. A couple Bull Sharks, and three Smooth Hammerhead Sharks circled the smaller water-craft. No sooner do they spot what appears to be the carcass of a Bull Shark sinking rapidly to the sea floor, bleeding perfusely from multiple points, not five yards from the men. They quickly investigate the carcass on the sea floor, finding the shark is still alive, having had all of its fins cut off. Unable to swim, the shark is left to suffocate or be eaten by other predators. The mood of the royal and his guards changes to that of pure infuriation, and disgust. The shark is clearly in pain, and frightened terribly. The royal adjusts his grip on his trident as he impales the head of the shark with its pronges, quickly putting the creature out of its agonizing misery.  
The man of royalty glances upward once more, this time with an expression of ferocity that is unmatched. His subordinates do the same. A quick burst of sound erupted and echoed to the ears of the guards and royal from the vessels above. A few of the Atlantean soldiers seem startled to hear such an abrupt powerful sound coming from the surface above, and soon the sound repeated, ringing out numerously. Enraged, the royal was off the sea floor as he propelled himself upward, displacing the sand beneath his feet. The sight was no different than that of a man taking flight into the sky. The water seemed to give in his presence, with little resistance. His legs oscillated like a swimmers, but with much more apparent power. Swift eddies followed after him as he closed in on the surface of the water at an astonishing rate, trident in hand, thrusted foward. His guards followed, not too far behind him. Launching out of the water with a maximum heighth of eight feet above the deck, landing in the small fishing boat, occupied by seven fishermen. His sheer weight, pound for pound of muscle, crumpled the aluminum deck below his feet. He scowls at the sight of the fishermen, striking absolute shock and fear in them.  
The incredibly cramped cargo hold of the small vessel was packed with equipment and shipping crates, with a fishermen below huddling over a table prepping several pounds of Red Mullet fish as bait, in the confined belly of the ship, glancing frightfully up at indentions of feet made in the deck above.  
At a censory glance, the craft appeared cheaply made, mostly consisting of an aluminum build. Although it was a small vessel, it had an overhang to cover the steering and equipment. Basic fishing poles were lined up against the outer wall of the overhang, dusty from irregular use. At both sides of the 12' by 20' ship were heavy duty make-shift fishing rods, bolted to the deck of the floor. A metal seat and winch were also attached to them. The fishing rod consists of cylindrical steel tubing, threaded with several hundred yards of clear, fifty pound monofilament test line. One end of the line is wound around a sizable fishing reel, the other end dangled Red Mullet four feet above the calm waters, ready to be lowered into the shark infested waters.  
Two of the fishermen were armed with handguns. One was dead upon the deck, lying in a pool of his own blood, certainly killed by one of the sea-faring thieves on the neibhoring ship. The fishermen in the cargo hold was on his way up to investigate the source of the gunshots.  
The adjacent water-craft was a medium sized yacht. Covered in filth, and cheap welding marks on the hull elevating into view as it still retains buoyancy even through apparent mishaps and foolery. Barely visible on the front right side of the yachts hull is "The Queen", a marker of its previous owner no doubt.  
It is not piloted by a captain, or anyone too familiar with sailing, as it has come ashore on jagged shorelines more than once, discerned from its shotty restoration. Alternatively, it is commanded by nearly a dozen impoverished Somolian thieves, wielding weapons that are more than likely just as stolen as their craft. Two grappling hooks from the pirate controlled yacht were fastened tightly against the guard-rail on the back of the fishermens boat, as if to prepare for a violent and hasty boarding.  
The royal Atlantean had put both parties in awe. The sunlight rising between the horizon and the storm clouds spread in the distance, gleamed upon his trident, distracting the would-be pirates for only a moment. One of the marauders lifts a worn submachine gun and opens fire upon the supreme Atlantean. Bullets deflect off his skin just as fast as they are shot, clanking upon the random locations they happen to richochet towards.  
The fishermen below deck had rushed, pneumatic harpoon in hand, up to the deck cautiously. The harpoon wielding fishermen seemed startled by the sight of the Atlantean. A quiet click noise is heard, followed almost concurrently with a hissing sound, as the double pronged harpoon is discharged by the pneumatic cylindrical rod right toward the royal Atlantean. In the blink of an eye, the Atlantean has the shaft of the harpoon in his firm grasp. A mere four inches from impaling him, though from the preceding barrage of bullets, it is doubtful to have pierced his undoubtedly tough skin.  
The Somalian pirates appear dumbfounded, along with the fishermen that they were aggressively charging. A second pirate with a rifle aims for his forhead and shoots, expecting a kill-shot. The pirates and fishermen both look at the royal Atlantean with bewilderment as the bullet falls to the ground, rather than the man from the sea. It leaves nothing but a superficial circular outline of blood at his foreheads center. The submachine gun wielding bandit attempts to finish the royal from the sea with the rest of the rounds in his clip, this time ricocheting a couple bullets just over the heads of some the pirates, and clipping the audacious harpoon toter in his left leg, dropping him instantly to the floor of the deck as he grips his leg, hands bloodied from the bullet wound. He expresses great pain from his injury, belting out cries and yelps.  
The royal looked on with flare of his eye-brows, scoffing aloud, "You surface-dwellers will never learn."  
By this time, the Atlantean's guards had steathily peaked at the waters surface, and silently climbed aboard the pirates' yacht without any disruption. While the thieves had looked on in shock, one of them happen to notice the cunning royal guards, and with a quick jerk of his neck, warned the rest of them. The pirates rushed the guards, who stood at least one foot taller than most them. Some of them opened fire, but to the same result as the Atlantean royal, while others rushed to physically attack the guards, neither succeeded.  
"Are all surface-people this weak and petty?", a royal guard asked vocally, with a rhetorical tone as he gripped the throat of one thief, nearly crushing his wind-pipe and then quickly dispatching him across the ship and into the inner wall of the yachts overhang.  
Another pirate attempts to punch one of the guards, recieving a blade to the gut from the royal soldier. While the sword is pulled from the bandit, the guard simultaneously shoves him backwards with brunt force from his forearm, falling to the floor with his mid-section draped in blood.  
The bloodshed was quickly interrupted as the royal Atlantean lunges over to the pirates commandeered vessel.  
"We do not kill surface-dwellers.", the dominant Atlantean stated forcibly, with a gritted jaw. His hand firmly gripped his guards wrist in an admonishing fashion, as the bloodied sword dripped heavily upon the yachts deck.  
By this time, the fishermen on the contiguous boat had dropped their firearms and huddled under their crafts overhang fearfully. The wounded fisherman was left out on the deck still writhing in pain from the richocheted bullet that had hit him not a few moments ago.  
The Atlantean royal and his guards proceeded by subduing the Somalian pirates through non-violent means.  
"King Arthur, what are we to do with them?", a guard asked the royal formally by name.  
"Leave them.", the Atlantean King replied, with a reserved tone.  
"What of the fishermen?", another of his royal guard inquired coldly. But King Arthur did not answer.  
After the King of Atlantis reboarded the fishing vessel, he surveyed the fishing boat closely. Realizing with the sharks circling the ship were being caught by the fishermen with the make-shift rods and Red Mullet bait, he scowered the deck. Underneath a filleting table he found crates housing hundreds of various types of shark fins. A tag on the side of the crate details they are to be sold for "shark fin soup". An offense that is illegal in most countries, and definitely not tolerated under any circumstances by the King of the seas. He was infuriated beyond his own belief.  
Looking at wounded fishermen, he belts out, "You cowards! You do not know pain and suffering!", with such an angered tone that even his guards are startled.  
King Arthur quickly snatches up the wounded man, and tosses him overboard with no difficulty.  
"You all are no better than the thieves we rescued you from!", Arthur scoffed.  
The wounded fishermen began pleaing for help, as the blood from his gunshot wound swirled around him the water. The King of Atlantis, refusing to assist the injured man, he instead advances towards the other fishermen cowering in the crevices of the overhang beside the steering and equipment. Arthur lifts his trident and drives into the steering column, piercing far through it, disabling all ability to steer or maneuver the craft whatsoever, leaving the crew virtually stranded.  
"Let the current take you where it will.", the royal King stated ominously.  
His guards watched all of this at a reserved distance on the nearby yacht.  
As the Atlanteans were just about to descend back into the oceans depths, a thunderous crackling resounded above them. The sky lit up a brilliant white and a portal was cast open, ten yards above them, fluxuating a blackish glow. At its heighth, the size of the portal could only be approximated. At this point, King Arthur along with his guards, were standing in disbelief of such a sight. The remaining pirates and fishermen felt even more rattled by the events that had transpired in a few moments. Soon the quaking sound ceased. But this reprieve was fleeting. An aircraft exited the portal, one of a relatively large size, making the yacht below seem compact and small.  
The craft was a dark, and gritty black color. There is no smooth surface on the craft, but indentations and rough etchings of no particular design. It has flat wings spanning nearly the width of the hull of the craft itself. These wings came to a point, as did two sharpened wings diagonally placed on each end of the roof of the craft, though these didn't span as far as its partners. It made a whirring, mechanical sound as it came out of the portal and seemed to hover above the Atlanteans. The front end of the craft had elongated jagged points, extending from the bottom of ridges on the airships front end. There is no windows on the craft, at least none the Atlanteans can discern. Jets, or some type of propulsion eminated from eight seperate points at the base of this mysterious flying ship. The jets flare up for a few moments, as the ship seems to rotate one hundred and eighty degrees, facing the ship backwards. No physical seems are visible, until a hatch opens, with a indestinct reddish glow coming from within. The hatch opened from the bay of the craft, and extended outward at a forty-five degree angle. Strange silhouettes are visible from the deck of the airship. King Arthur was mystified, knowing these could certainly not be land-dwellers, but who else could they be, he pondered. Moments later the figures stepped from the shadowed inside of their craft.  
They are repugnant in appearance. With hunching builds, bulking in size. The beings are suited up in a drab green suit of armor, with a golden harness, clearly tarnished. The harness, collecting from four seperate paths, two over each arm, and two under, tightly grips a propulsive technology giving the creatures limited bouts of flight. Not unlike that of our own jet propulsion equipment, although it seems much more rough in appearance, garnering no aesthetic value. This monstrosity was masked thankfully, covering most of its face, at best. A translucent layer of orange covers their eyes, akin to goggles. From their noseline to the jaw is uncovered. Their skin is similar in color to a greyish-brown porous stone, wrinkled and worn. Similar to that of chemical burn victims. In between is a gaping mouth with razor like teeth, abundant in amount. Hissing and agonized breathing is expressed from the beasts, sounding almost mechanized, as more come into sight. Most of them are identical to their parallel partners, with a few cursory differences. Some of them wield a weapon similar to an axe, save for it apparently being superheated using some form of energy. Others are equipped with spears, daggers, white-hot using the same mysterious energy source, and hulking weaponry unlike anything on Earth, above or below the sea. All of these arms and melee weapons are gripped by the four fingered hands of the odd creatures. Each digit coming a razor sharp point. Their feet are not too dissimiliar, booted in a golden armor up to the knee joint. The gold on these boots is just as worn and tarnished, if not moreso, than that of their harnesses.  
The creatures step to the edge of the extended platform of the ships exit, and look about their surroundings. Spotting the Atlanteans and the water-crafts below, they waste no time in jumping from airship, channeling a vicious demeanor that is both intimidating, and terrifiying.  
Shrieking as they fall downwards, "Anti-Life!", barely deciphirable to the ear.  
Falling nearly thirty feet, the beasts downward free-fall is quickly slowed by the jet propulsion device on their backs, to a relative thud as they touch down on the fishing boat, as well as the yacht. King Arthur and his guards still entangled in the shock and awe of the scene before them, stand almost paralysed for a moment. But for just a moment. The beasts, feet planted, show no hesitation in racing to attack the Atlanteans. With the royal guards occupying the yacht, the King of Atlantis is left to himself on the fishing vessel. He shows no fear in the face of that fact. The demon-beasts swing their axes, tossing their spears on their way to the King of the seas. By this time Arthur really takes into account the dozen that he is up against. Some spears hit him, while others impale a few of the fishermen behind him. The deadly javelins that do hit him scorch and burn his flesh because of each one being superheated. They leave tarnished gashes in the rest of his royal wear. One creature thrashes him with an axe, scolding his neck, but not at all cutting it as you might think.  
Living under the ocean, each Atlanteans body must deal with pressures much more extreme than land-dwellers experience. This allows for a tougher exterior, and makes them essentially invulnerable to many injuries that a normal man would die from.  
The seering pain of the white-hot axe enrages the King, as he punctures the armor of the monstrosity with his trident, piercing through its body as he lunges it overboard into the sea. The fighting becomes increasingly closer as Arthur cannot fight them one on one. As one beast slashes an axe at him, he grabs its wrist snapping it in a reverse position and impaling it into the creatures own skull, concurrently fending off attacks from another demonic creature with his trident, with ink colored blood dripping from his arms and trident, creating pools of the beasts blood on the deck of the fishing boat.  
Shrieks and growls echo from the yacht as King Arthur catches glimpses of his guards being slaughtered.  
"Enough of this!", Arthur yelled fiercely.  
He decks one beast, with a cracking sound as its skull is partially crushed. He attempts to fend them off with his trident held horizontally, but some slash and hack at him still. Headbutting one, and grabbing the arm of another, crushing its bones within. He steals the scolding hot axe by its warm handle from the beasts limp limb. Plunging the blade of the axe into several of the creatures, critically wounding them. Most of these monsters had blood-gushing gashes courtesy of King Arthur, but they're ferocious nature kept them from even noticing. Some even appeared to smile, as if they enjoyed the barely withstandable pain. This sight dissolved Arthurs ability to stop any of these monstrosities just short of death. Their bloodthirst is unquenchable. Death seems their only goal. Arthur seems to be focusing, concrentrating on something, in the midst of his attackers.  
The guards on the yacht are having a much harder time, despite three of them, two already being killed. A beast holding a large and bulky weapon, one that obviously shoots much more than bullets, leaps from the ship above and onto the yacht, with a vile smile on its gruesome face. The three remaining royal guards decide to free the five remaining pirates, so two guards attempt to repel the hordes of monsters for as long as they can while one guard frees the subdued Somolian pirates. As the guard frees one pirate, the weapon wielding beast propels himself upward slightly above the ravaging wall of creatures giving their all to get past the guards hacking and slicing them. The beast charges up his absurdly large gun, as it blasts a plasma beam, hitting the royal guard who was freeing the sea-bandits. The beam goes through his body, and into the pirate in front of him, and partially through the ships hull, causing water to seep in rapidly. Simultaneously, one of the demonic beasts charges one of the last two guards, who have been doing an admirable job keeping them at bay. The royal guard stabs him in the abdomen, but this does nothing to phase the creature, as it spreads its jaw and sinks its teeth viciously into the neck of the royal protector with such power, it breaks through the Atlanteans skin. He falls to his knees as the creatures swarm his body. The remaining guard flees, diving quickly into the ocean. Two pirates remain onboard. One still restrained, the other panicking, spinging for a weapon. He reaches one of the many rifles on the ship and begins firing it into the demon-beasts. The bullets go right through at least two beasts, doing nothing to stop them. They give a rancid smile to the pain as they grab a hold of the Somalian pirates, crowding them as they are mercilessly killed.  
Arthur continues to hold them off, having a much harder time even killing them now. They are overwhelming him. He is visibly tired.  
The portal above them still open, welcoming more creatures to the fray. Some of them in more airships, all of them smaller than the original one. Others in two man fliers, allowing for quick exits upon arrival to what ever their destination might be.  
The fleeing guard at this time had repelled himself out of the water, and onto the bow of the ship, making his way atop the fishing vessels overhang.  
King Arthur was becoming weaker from all the physical strain it took to hold the dozen creatures swarming him, at bay. Numerous creatures began to propel themselves above the royal. The guard leaped in the air to drag the beasts down. On the deck floor, he started slicing and stabing the creatures, rushing to stand as Arthur exerted tremendous strength keeping them away from the guard long enough for him to get his footing.  
"What is happening?!", the guard fearfully questioned telepathically to his King.  
"We've found the breach.", King Arthur replied mentally, with a rather ominous spark of realization setting in for both the King and his only remaining guard.  
The beastly creatures continued shrieking and growling through all of the attack.  
"As soon as we get an opening, dive into the ocean.", the King reasoned to his guard.  
Both were putting up a glorious fight. Attacking each creature any way they could, they got an extremely brief break in between their bloody slashings. King Arthur and his only remaining guard attempt to hurdle over the starboard of the ship, only to be clustered by the audacious creatures, piling on top of them. Each hell-spawn brutally scratches, claws, and bites them. The outer group of beasts hacked at the guard and his King with their smoldering axe heads, only piercing the flesh of the creatures in front of them, though they didn't even seem to notice. Arthur, using every fiber in his body, exerted the force to overcome the dog-pile of demonic beasts. Firmly replanting his feet upon the deck, with five to six creatures grappling and clawing at him. He flings three of them off with a jarring thrust, seperating his arms their furthest distance apart. Wrestling further with the beasts clinging to his neck. He prevents the few attempting to drag him back down with a few swift slams of his fists. Bones shatter under his mighty blows.  
Seeing his guard extremely overwhelmed and soon to succumb to the powerful beasts, he drives the pronges of his trident into two of them, jerking them overboard into the sea. He further waylays the remaining hell-spawns, gripping his guard roughly by the arm and diving into the sea while the remaining beasts race after them, clawing and grasping at them to no fruition. Some charge after the remained fishermen, others gaze at the water cautiously.  
The sun had finally risen fully, and the storm clouds had nearly dissipated as the Atlanteans plunged back into the ocean, with the ink colored blood rolling off of them in the water, dispersing greatly as they seeked asylum in the oceans depths. The creatures above propelled themselves over the water, momentarily reluctant. The beast wielding the plasma shooter however, dove in with no hesitation. Soon the rest of the demon horde followed. Splashing into the water, their jetpacks worked well to propel them through the water after the Atlantean royal and his guard.  
Arthur and his protector regrouped about forty yards east, five fathoms above the sea floor. The sharks that had once surrounded the fishing boat were now alongside the Atlanteans. A few Tiger Sharks also gathered around them. And with a focused thought, he psychically commanded the infamous man-eaters to attack.  
"This ends now!", the Atlantean ruler roared decisively.  
The ten or so vile monsters being propelled toward them in the deep water were suddenly bombarded by the rib-cracking rams of the Bull and Hammerhead sharks. While the Tiger Sharks bit down on their limbs with teeth incomparable to those of the hellish creatures, essentially tearing them apart. The beast toting the plasma gun quickly charged it up, shooting it at the incoming sharks. It blasted right through them, moving much slower through the water, but still at a hurried velocity. Before the guard could escape from its path, it incinerates through him, killing him instanteously. The gruesome creature began recharging his weapon again, soon having his arm brutally gripped in the jaws of one of the Tiger Sharks. It became unable to fully charge the shot, only getting up to one-third the guns full power. In the chaos, the creature fires off the shot prematurely, hitting Atlantis' King, jolting his body, but not obliterating through him. With only a fraction of its true power, only stunning the King, knocking him unconscious from the brunt force. The dead sharks, the guard, and King Arthur all sink to the ocean floor. The rest of the sharks fled from the creatures, as the hellish monsters rose out of the water, clearly uncomfortable in such an enviroment. Sufficed by their efforts, assuming all of the Atlanteans were dead, they returned through the portal from which they arrived. As though it were a test, that for our sakes, we appeared to have failed against the gruesome hordes of demons that seemed to be evaluating just how hard we could fight back.


	5. JL Chapter 5: The Last Uncivilized Nat

**Chapter Five - The Last Uncivilized Nation**

**Themiscyra**

A cloud of dust was kicked up as two female warriors battled on the sandy floor of an arena. Spectators are sprinkled about the ancient looking colliseum. It is far older than its current inhabitants. The stone seats, one higher than another are occupied sparsely by other females. In the colosieums northern face, a dais is placed front and center. The throne is occupied by a middle-aged woman, dressed in a silky white garb, with densely black hair restrained by a modest platinum crown. She is surrounded by female soldiers, wearing tarnished golden armor, and red leather skirts, with segmented links keeping it flexible for many types of battle situations.  
The rest of the island appears deserted. All other duties or activities have been forgone for this apparent special occasion in the amphitheatre. No man is in sight, giving rise the idea that this luxurious island is only inhabited by those of the female gender.  
The small crowd, of around sixty women in the colliseum, seem enthralled with the warriors doing battle, or at least in anticipation of the outcome from it.  
Beyond the colliseum are many other structures, similar in nature to that of ancient Greek architecture. These buildings making up this small community are wedged in the center of a lush island. To the eyes, it appears to be paradise. The eastern edge of the island is mountainous, layered with a dense forest. A spring at the top of the mountain runs off directly down the cliffs edge, creating a sky blue resevoir of water, glistening in the morning sunlight. The remainder of the island is made up of jungles, gardens, hills, valleys. It was truly a paradise placed precariously in the middle the atlantic ocean.

The warriors in the amphitheatre continue to clash with no hesitation or restraint. Both of a relatively young age, possibly in their mid twenties. They are a prime example of strength and prowess of the physical arts, while still maintaining a beautiful and feminine appearance.  
One is adorned with bronze armor; A worn helmet, breastplate, forearm guards, shin guards, and brown leather gladiator sandals laced securely just under her knees. She's wearing a skirt, segmented in several seperate links of iron with sewn leather layered over each piece, for greater mobility. These pieces of armor have been used well, as they have retained numerous dents and scuffs, protecting the skin of the woman underneath. Below the armor, she is wearing a pale red cloth material made of cotten to protect her upper body from the iron breastplate chaffing her. Both her and her adversarys upper arms and legs are bare, and essentially unprotected.  
Armed with a double-edged sword, approximately thirty inches in length. The hilt is a tarnished silver, with a quite large oval crossguard. He left hand boasts that of a large circular shield made of iron, clasped securely around her forearm.  
The other fights with the same amount of armor, save for the helmet and shinguards. She is armed with a small bow, a quiver full of arrows, and a medium length hollow spear that is attached under her forearm with same clasps her wrists guards are. Sporting illustrious red hair, securely pulled back into a pontail extending to her lower back. Throughout the course of the battle her bangs had slipped loose and meddlesomely dangled in her face. Her sweating from the physical strain, the fight had obviously been going on for quite some time.  
The tension and true exertion was palpable, especially to that of the woman sitting upon the throne at the arenas northern face.  
The woman anxiously sitting on the dais is clearly a ruler to these women cheering on the gladiators below.  
The female warriors continue they're hair-raising battle. The red head swiftly avoiding a lethal swipe from her opponent. Launching her right leg upward, her aggressor naturally lifts her shield up as to protect herself, but instead the red haired beauty plants her foot against it, pushing up and backwards into a reverse somersault. In mid-air, pinching an arrow between here bent index and middle fingers from her crowded quiver, pulling it tightly in her bow. The arrow shoots before she event touches the ground. Already another arrow is grasped from here quiver and launched at her opponent.  
The helmet wearing warrior ducks and rolls forward with superb agility, evading the first arrow and slicing the other arrow out of the air instantly with a abrupt slice of her sword. The red haired women aggressively charges her, striking her bow across her helmet, cracking the soft wood in two. She tosses down her fractured bow in frustration, and slides out her spear from under her forearm intially wopping her adversary with it. Soon she prods the woman with the shield, who holds her at bay consistently. The spear gets jabbed between the widened eye openings on the womans helmet, centimeters from gouging her eyes, the red haired warrior begins twisting the spear violently, as her opponent shoves her shield up quickly, displacing the spear, but along with it, her helmet.  
Her hair flowed downwards, free from the binding inside her helmet. It was as black as coal. Her eyes were more blue than the clear sky above with, and eye-lashes were naturally the same thick shade as her hair. With voluptuous lips, and flawless facial features, she was a goddess in beauty among her peers.  
The ruler gasped solemnly at the scene.  
The angelic dark haired beauty was without blemish, except for a cut from the spear across the bridge of her nose. Blood trickled down her cheek as she wiped it away, with a fierce expression that didn't seem possible from such a radiantly gorgeous girl, no older than twenty-five.  
"Is that all you've got, Artemis?", the dark haired girl dared.  
"You think this is a game?", Artemis rebuttaled, as she charged the girl, viciously prodding her spear at her.  
The copper haired warrior thrashed continously, realizing it was getting her no where, she swung the spear like a staff at wide angle, giving her rival time to block it convienently with her shield. The brunette took advantage of Artemis' defenselessness with such an attack and swiped her sword vertically, aiming for her neckline. Artemis reacted nimbly and thrusted her forearm in the swords path. The clanking of the iron sword hitting the iron wrist guard echoed throughout the colliseum.  
The small crowd roared with excitement, while the dark haired ruler seemed all the more anxious about the scene.  
The dark haired goddess, ready to adjust her shield, repositioned her sword with lightning speed and swung again, while charging her shield into Artemis. The red headed fighter dashed to the side, slightly ducking, dodging both attacks. Suddenly the brunette beauty became destracted as a flash of light stunned her vision. Artemis noticed the light flashing across her face, only smirking, obviously assured of the advantage she now has.  
In the stadium behind Artemis, a handmaiden is holding a dagger horizontally, collected the light from the sun onto the glossed blade, and redirecting it just above Artemis and into the pale blue eyes of the dark haired girl.  
Artemis readjusts her grip on her spear, and charges it down onto the beautiful goddess' head, concurrently ramming her to the ground. She pins her down as her sword flies from her hands. In the dark haired beautys confusion, she manages to bring her shield in close, but not before Artemis grabs the inside of her arm, restraining her from using it. The blue-eyed goddess quickly reaches for Artemis' throat with her right hand, struggling to get a grip. The red haired warrior speedily whips out a curved dagger positioned under the bottom strap of her breastplate.  
The crowd hails this recent deadly scuffle between the two well trained fighters.  
"Finish her! Finish her!", the throng of women in the amphitheatre chants.  
Artemis raises her blade. The dark haired girl never shows any sign of fear, instead she wore the expression of a fierce warrior. Artemis begins to drive the blade downwards, aiming for her throat.  
"No!", the ruler fearfully screams, standing up onto the base of her throne instantaneously, as her plea echoes throughout the colliseum.  
Artemis stops the blade abruptly at her rulers plea, an inch or two shy from piercing the dark haired girls skin. The blue-eyed goddess' eyes flutter at the shock that the blade was driven into her, but no other sypmtom of fear was displayed. The dark haired warrior stands up, tossing her dagger aggressively towards the ground as she begins to strut angerly towards one of the many exits located underneath the seating of the stadium.  
"You get to live another day, Diana, be thankful.", Artemis stated irreverently, with he back facing both the beauty known as Diana, and their ruler, as she walks out of the colliseum.  
Diana stands up, unclasping her shield from her arm, heading for a passageway beneath the stadiums stone benches that lead to the throne of her ruler. She makes it to the shaded corridor, while the rest of the colliseums attendents stream from the structure at several arched exits and entry ways at the amphitheatres southern edge.  
Upon reaching the entrance to the throne, is quickly embraced by her ruler, but it isn't mutual.  
"Mother, I am fine!", Diana states, exasperated.  
"No you are not! You would have died if it wasn't for me.", the crowned empress replied, as Diana pulled back from her.  
"And now I must wear your mercy as my shame," she rebuttaled, emphatically continuing, "Artemis only was victorious because she cheated! One of her handmaidens blinded me, and she took aim for my throat!"  
"You life was in jeopardy either way, my daughter! The Amazonian battle arena is not where you belong.", Diana's mother boldly said as a tear rolled down her cheek, "Meet me in my quarters shortly.", she ordered further, in a much more commanding voice.  
Diana nodded in agreement, "Yes, my Queen."  
Diana, a princess, was left to herself in the emptied colliseum as her mother, and guards, diverted through a passageway leading from the arena. She looks at the dirt and filth upon her hands and armor. Contemplation overwhelms her radiant face, as she thinks about everything that just happend in these past few moments.

A three mile walk from the amphitheatre, to her mothers royal housing is ahead of Princess Diana. Choosing not to take the horse and chariot left for her by her mother, she instead unhooks the reins from the stunning white mare and walks it to her mothers modest living quarters.  
She nuzzled the young horse as they walked, saying softly, "Thanks for the company, Amethea."  
The pathway on which they walked was of a fine dirt, smoothed out with no rocks or gravel. A stone well was to their right, where Princess Diana stopped to let to horse drink from a wooden bucket. Beyond the well was an outline of trees, creating many peaceful shady areas. Though it is an island, much of the grassy areas aren't overgrown but rather trimmed, and kept up by the female gardeners of the island, whose sole duty is to maintain the outward appearance of the community in which the live in. Many of the stone buildings have elevated pitch roofs circumferenced by large stone columns. Most of the dozens of buildings Diana passes on her walk also have limestone steps leading to the entry ways. Her dirt path divulges constantly, all leading to these seperate buildings, each of varying sizes. Some of the structures are more than likely living quarters for the other "Amazonian" inhabitants of the island.  
She and her horse continued, Amethea clopping, having recently been shoed. Some Amazonian passersby glared at Diana with an expression of disgrace towards the Princess.

Some time shortly, she reaches her mothers quarters; a vast structure with detailed carvings of the gods in between the mild overhang of the roof and the vastly thick columns below them. Several wooden posts are strung along the western side of the modest palace. She takes the leather reins and tightly secures them around the closest post, continuing to tie the other end to the pommel on the basic leather saddle hoisted around Amethea.  
Upon entering, she is addressed by her Queens royal guards at the entry way into her mothers living quarters. The guards give no particular facial expression of bias or disrespect to Diana as they escorted her into the presence of their Queen..  
The dark haired Princess followed them further through the Queens modest palace.  
The ceiling was embroidered with moldings and designs along the bridged arches surrounding the many dome spires topping the structure. The arched ceilings rose a couple dozen feet above them, the domes themselves were fixed at a much higher level. Inside the domes were magnaminous hand-painted murals of the gods. Golden crown molding was inlaid in each side of the molded designs. The walls were the home of many paintings of the gods, and the Themiscyrian landscape. Diana walked across the smooth stone floor, with sand floating off her feet with each step.  
She was once again greeted by her mother, this time both of them were in a much more collected mood.  
"Will that be all, Queen Hippolyta?", a fair-skinned guard asked, the Queen.  
"Yes.", she replied, in a somber tone as the guards removed themselves from her presence.  
The Queen was holding a small glass bottle. The contents were that of a tannish clay. The Queen drew Diana close as she dabbed a touch of clay upon the cut on her nose, smoothing it out into the wound. Diana winced at the inflammation the clay caused initially.  
"What took you so long to arrive?", Queen Hippolyta inquired firmly.  
"Why can't we leave this place?", asked Diana, completely disregarding her mothers question.  
Hippolyta expresses the smallest amount of bewilderment visibly, keeping more of her confusion at bay.  
Queen Hippolyta answered, noticeable restraining herself from using an overly incredulous tone, "Is paradise not enough for you?"  
"Mother, there is more to the world than what Themiscyria offers me. What Themiscyria offers any of us!"  
"Diana, your ungratefulness...", Queen Hippolyta started, pausing briefly, "It is unbecoming of your birthright. Are you really so blind as to not see that Themiscyria is a sanctuary in the brutal hell that the rest of the world has become? Athena crafted for us this paradise because she saw us worthy of something greater than what the rest of the world had for us.", Hippolyta declared to Diana, her tone raised enough to echo throughout her palace. Her initial disbelief at Diana's previous statements had worn enough to make her understand more of Diana's desire to leave Themiscyria.  
She gave a quick embrace to Diana before saying, "No more of this kind of thinking, my daughter. Now go bathe, you are filthy. And dress for the final contest tonight."  
After having hung her head low upon her mothers shoulder doing her warm embrace, Diana left her mothers quarters shortly thereafter.

Diana, after having gathered her silk white gown, and a thick cotton sheet of cloth, trotted Amethea at a slow pace, taking in her and her mothers heated discussion. She replays it constantly in her head, with a pale intensity. On her stroll to the waterfall, where the bathing water is near, she picks some strands of lavender from a cropping of them in the lush valley preceding the mountain, and continues on with Amethea.  
Diana arrives at the waterfall, on the right ridge of the lake in which the free-falling water pools in. A stone channel at the waters edge funnels it down a slight slope into a smaller lake. The smaller spring was shrouded with the occasional vents of steam rising from the warm water. Some type of geological activity below ground was warming the creek, and a partial section of the adjacent lake. At the far end of the creek is another stone funnel, its purpose being to divert the over abundance of water from the creek, and also to have it keep the water from becoming murky and stagnant with the filth from its users.  
Diana set her clothes upon a stone bench beside the warm spring. Tying Amethea to one leg of the bench with her reins, she began freeing the clasps of her breastplate, wrist, and shin guards, setting them upon the stone seat. After unfastening her knee-high strapped sandals, she pulled the dull red garment from her upper body, and unclasped her leather sewn iron linked skirt.  
Her figure was more stunning then words can describe. Her breasts were voluptuous, complimenting her midsection and unwavering physique. With curvaceous hips adjoining uniformly smooth upper legs, matching the rest of glossy and vibrant peach skin. She is without a defect or blemish. Princess Diana's appearance outshines that of Aphrodites.  
A slight breeze pushes her extravagantly beautiful hair back as she quickly submerges herself into the steamy water. She rises, sliding her fingers through her hair to reposition it from her respendently blue eyes. Curtailing any running droplets of water from meddlesomely streaming down her face, rinsing the dirt and dried blood from her face. The cut on the bridge of the nose is now completely healed, with not even so much as a scar. Diana washes the rest of her filth off and rubs the lavender petals through her hair and over her body, before taking a minute to soak in the splendidly warm water.  
Princess Diana rose from the warm and humid creek, her sultry figure sopping wet. She grabs her large cotton cloth to dry her hair as well as she can, and continues to dry the rest of the water off her naked body. Adorning her ceremonial royal wear, and placing her armor upon the back of Amethea's sattle, she sets off for her own personal living quarters, seperate from that of her mothers."-

The classroom had an air of excitement as the teacher stopped reading. The students sat at attention for their dismissal from their history class, readying their backpacks as if to leave.  
"Okay, class. We are going to stop at the beginning of chapter six. We will continue reading tomorrow.", the teacher said, as the sophmoric teens shook off their lethargicness, preparing to bolt from their desks.  
The elder woman stood quickly from her teachers desk, "Wait!", she exclaims, "Class is not dismissed for fifteen more minutes."  
The teens dropped back into their chairs begrudgingly, sighing with displeasure.  
"Let's start with you, Bart.", the middle aged teacher begins, "What was your take on the missing pages in chapter one?", she asks.  
The red haired adolescent clears his throat, before muttering, "Maybe it was-" he stammered, "Maybe Mr. Wayne was Batman!".  
The class erupts in laughter, as the energetic young student leans down in his chair with embarrassment. The teacher herself stifles a chuckle before continuing.  
"I highly doubt that, Bart.", she assures tenderly. Progressing through the students, from the front of the room to the back, getting their views on the contents of the missing pages. Most of the theories the high schoolers gave were very disconcerned. Their teacher eventually reaches Michael Carter, a Gotham High quarterback known for his lack of studiousness, but also for his perchant for girls in the Gotham cheerleader squad. Blonde haired, with the appearance of an athlete, his overeagerness confuses his classmates and peers as he speaks with true interest regarding the journal and it's contents.  
"So does this Diana chick like, get some action... Anytime soon?", Michael jokes with insincere enthusiasm.  
His friends and football teammates chortle crudely at his jest, while the teacher slashes her eyes at him with annoyance as she continues with the question of the missing pages to the remaining few students.

The bell rings in the class room some minutes later as the students hurry to leave, nearly stampeding over one another. Michael progresses to the front of the room, as it was just him and his history teacher.  
"Mrs. Wells?", he asks.  
"Yes, Michael?", she respondes, shuffling some papers she would begin to grade.  
"I really am interested in the journal-", he begins before Mrs. Wells interrupts.  
She smirks, stating, "I'm sure you are.", as she began erasing her notery from the chalk board. "Now I' have some papers to grade.", she continues, hinting for him to depart.  
"No, Mrs. Wells, I mean it. I'd really like to know more about the "Apokoliptian Crisis", and Bruce Wayne. Who was he anyway?", he ponders sincerely, slinging his backpack over his shoulder.  
Cutting her eyes sharply in disbelief, Mrs. Wells soon put the pieces together. "Michael, there's nothing wrong with showing a real interest during class.", she notes of his apprehension to his studies.  
"It's not that," he begins softly, "I- I just have a reputation to keep up with, yah know?"  
Although initially relunctant, she soon reasons to nurture his interest. "If you really want to know more, meet me in the library after school tomorrow."

Stepping out of the school, he walks down the grime laden sidewalk of Gotham city. Hover cars glide nearly a foot off the road as they approach an on-ramp leading to the air-highway. Homeless people litter the streets around Michael as he walks a half mile to his apartment building which he shares with his older sister.  
With no parents to speak of, it is really his sister Michelle who takes care of them. His mother died of complications during his birth, leaving only his father to raise him and Michelle for some years. However, his attitude towards them shifted after a while, as he held onto to bitter feelings and the grief caused by his wife's passing. Suffering from alcoholism, and a weakness for gambling, he soon lost all of his savings and left Michelle on her own to provide and take care of Michael at the the young age of seventeen. Michelle quickly took up a job as a waitress at a rundown bar by falsifying her age. Six years later, she still provides for herself and Michael, whose now seventeen himself.  
He walks in to find the apartment to himself, as Michelle is out working. Tossing his backpack in the corner, Michael drops onto his ragged couch, turning on a black box against the furthest wall of their living room. A hologram projects from, displaying various channels, not unlike a television set. Turning the volume up, he attempts to drown out the fleeting thoughts of his day. Almost ritualistically, Michael grabs a picture of his mother and father from a coffee table beside the couch. He stares at it for nearly an hour before setting it back down and dozing off to sleep.


	6. JL Chapter 6: Arrow Heads Are Rolling

**Chapter Six - Arrow Heads Are Rolling**

That morning at school, Mrs. Wells went over the contents of the prior chapters of Bruce Wayne's journal thus far, before once again continuing to read the succeeding chapters aloud. During so, she constantly kept on eye on Michael.

"-**Star City, California**

A sprinkling of rain misted over the Star City airport, as a plane landed and the passengers exited the gate one by one, having arrived from New York City. The sun gleamed through the airport terminals large windows with a bronze coloration highlighting the skyline.  
The last passenger, Oliver Queen, exited into the airport terminal; a man of general stock, and handsome features with rich blonde hair of an average length, but with an overgrown quality. He also sported a vandyke beard, thick and with sharp ends. His attire was nothing more than a vinyl flat cap, a tailored dress jacket with a formal blue button-up shirt underneath. Inconsistent with the rest of his dress wear, are his denim blue jeans. Brown leather loafers finished his outerwear.  
Switching his nylon briefcase into his left hand, he grabbed his cellphone from his jacket pocket, answering as he arrived into the luggage terminal.  
Bursting with a vocal intensity, Oliver began, "Din- Dinah!... No, I understand perfectly. You wanted me to fly all the way across the country to have a meeting with some suits about Queen Industries financial standing for the next two quarters. Since my father died, all of the corporate heads have been trying to oust me so they can gain...", he explained, pausing to adjust the grip of his cellphone against his ear while Dinah, the woman on the other end of his phone call is replying.  
Oliver chimed in, "So what's my point? My point is that these bloodsucking parasites are only concerned about whether they'll be able to vacation for the third time in the Bahamas this year! They don't care about my company. Oh, and not to mention you know how I feel about flying!"

At Oliver Queen's humble mansion near the heart of Star City, his girlfriend, Dinah Lance laid across their king sized bed, decorated with silk sheets and blankets.  
Dinah was between the age of twenty-five to thirty. A brunette with shoulder length hair, and a beautiful complexion. Her figure was pleasing to the eye, while also being noticeably athletic. Dressed in sensual bed wear, she seemed to be waiting for his arrival back home.  
"Ollie, stop being so nearsighted. They're concerned about the finances of our company since the stock has dropped, what was it, like sixty-seven percent in this past quarter. Partially because you don't sit in on board meetings, you don't manage, you don't even know whats going on half the time. And your lifestyle misrepresents-", Olivers girlfriend ranted, as he quickly interrupted.  
"'Our company'?", he interjected with a lighthearted tone.  
Oliver heard silence for a moment before Dinah responded with an intensely frustrated sigh.  
"Ugh! You are impossible!", she replied, obviously irate as she ended the call and slammed her phone against the bed.  
Oliver, startled, jerked the phone away from his ear. Looking around to see everyone also waiting at the luggage conveyor belt staring at him, he put his phone away.

Oliver Queen reached his million-dollar home after taking a taxi from the airport.  
His home was intimidating in size, with three stories. His closest neighbors were, at best, one-hundred and fifty yards away in either direction.  
Entering his house, he noticed that the lights in the foyer were purposefully dimmed, which he correctly presumed was for a romantic occasion.  
Dinah was standing at the top of the second floor staircase in her modest lingerie, visibly annoyed, as Oliver set down his luggage.  
"Expecting someone else?", inquired Oliver with a quick smile.  
"Where are your slacks?", asked Dinah, devoid of hardly any emotion in her voice, completely disreguarding his wisecrack. She was holding back her frustration with Oliver as much as possible.  
"In my suitcase.", he quipped.  
Dinah squinted her eyes before smiling sweetly, as if she put everything behind them and accepted Oliver as best she could. Dinah sighed before saying in a seductive fashion, "Just get up here, Ollie."  
"Yes, ma'am.", Oliver replied, noticeably taken with Dinah's appearance.  
They passionately embraced one another at the top of the staircase, as they rushed into the closest bedroom.

Hours later, Ollie had quietly slipped out of bed where he had laid awake as Dinah slept peacefully next to him. Stepping gingerly across the smooth wooden floor of his bedroom, he walked into his closet. Parting his hanging clothes, Oliver reached for a box on a shelf in the furthest corner. Inside he found a green sleeveless leather hoodie, some nylon archers wrist guards. Under those articles of clothing were forest green leather pants, a domino mask, and dark green boots. Carrying this box of contaning this uniform, he crept downstairs. Ollie entered his garage where he kept his intricate bow, and quiver full of green arrows. He placed his bow and arrows, along with his box of clothing onto the back of his motorcycle.  
Dressing into his green uniform, he drove his bike into a parking garage as he put on his domino mask, and pulled his hood over his head. Detaching his bow from a clip on the side of his quiver, he lept from the second story of the garage onto the ground. He patrolled a quarter mile of north Star City, where he encountered some thieves as they brazen exited a liquor they had just robbed.  
One of the thugs spat expletives, trying to ward off any disruption from their ill gotten gains as he widened the part in his jacket, revealing a pistol in his waistline.  
"Can't an archer walk down a dark alleyway without trouble?", Oliver jested.  
The two other thugs converged up close to Ollie.  
"Isn't "Robin Hood" suppose'ta help tha poor?", one of the degenerates retorted with an ugly smile that showed his yellowed and decayed teeth.  
"You're really trespassing into my personal space, yellow fangs. Don't make me have to call your Orthodontist.", Oliver wisecracked.  
Angering the thug, he swung wide as Ollie ducked. Lunging backwards, Oliver clasped an arrow between his fingers and lined it up in his bow. The gun toting delinquent whipped his pistol out in retaliation as Oliver concurrently let loose his grip of the arrow.

"I have to get away from this. Away from everything.", a young Oliver, no older than twenty-five, thought to himself as he raised the mast of his extravagant yacht. Having recently purchased the yacht, he decided to leave everything behind, his father's company, his early relationship with Dinah, to learn his purpose in life. Setting sail out of Coast City, he found himself some in the Indian Ocean after a few ventures through the pacific islands such as the Northern Marianas Islands and Palau. The waters he found himself in were only a couple hundred miles off the coasts of Yemen and Somalia. He drifted through the sea for weeks at a time, staring out towards the horizon. Beneath the top deck, his private quarters was littered with empty wine and liquor bottles. His appearance was shabby to say the least. Olivers mind wandered as the clouds above that evening turned black, while the seas around him followed suit. The vessel initially rocked gently with the current of the waves, before being swayed violent in the thick of the storm. Ollie, being in a drunken stupor, hardly had the faculties to make it safely into his ship's cabin. Lightning struck in the distance as a torrential downpour ensued on top of Oliver and his yacht. Thunder crackled throughout the darkened sky as a monstrous wave toppled over the luxurious ship. Ollie's head collided with a metal rail guard around the yachts bow before the wave completely thrusted him overboard. Unconscious, the impact of hitting the rough sea aroused his senses as he fought against the violent currents to get back on yacht to no avail. The rip current underneath the surface of the water grabbed him, yanking him below, with his ship's name on the hull, "The Queen", being the last thing he saw.  
Oliver awoke a long time later on the sandy shore of an uninhabited island somewhere in the pacific. The darkness of night surrounded him, as only a silhouette of a tree line around two-hundred yards inland was visible with the lack of moonlight. Hardly coherent, he stumbled through the sand to get away from the tide. His clothes drenched, the sand adhered a fine layer to them as body gave out from the thrashing of each barreling wave that carried him to this island. Wrenched with pain throughout his entire body, he dared not to even get up as an eerie feeling of being watched overcame him from the nearby treeline. The howls and clicks of wild animals in the forest of the island startled him awake at every turn.

The arrow he had clasped in his finger was on a trajectory straight for the gun wielding thug's chest. Half of a foot away from him, the head of the arrow exploded, ejecting a net outwards. The net expanded and wound around the hoodlum. Panicked, the thug discharged his pistol in the blink of an eye before he dropped it as the net enveloped him. The bullet clipped Oliver's right forearm as he gripped the wound, blood seeping through his fingers. The two unarmed delinquents ran as the echoes of the gunshot moaned throughout the alleyway, with their friend disarmed and subdued on the ground by the net.

Oliver woke that morning to the muddled roaring of the waves rolling to shore. With tattered clothing, he walked up to the incoming water, finding an empty bottle of scotch that must have came from his yacht. He tossed it down in anger as he screamed to the sky, cursing the ill fate that had befallen him. Days had passed before he finally mustered up the will to find food. Scouting the jungles in the island's center, no substantial meals were found. Though his venture was not in vain, as he found supplemental collections of water in the curvature of large leaves, undoubtedly from the previous rainfall the night he was marooned. Oliver spent countless hours building makeshift tools and hunting weapons. After numerous failed attempts, he chunked a rock once more against a large boulder not far from shore, and with success broke off a dangerously sharp sliver. He then fashioned the sliver of rock to a wooden limb, as he split the thinnest part of the rock through the top of the piece of wood, he soon bound them together with some very small bits of vine that he found growing from a massive tree near the forest's heart. Equipped with an axe, he cut down various live limbs, none thicker than four inches in diameter. He also retrieved some very small limbs, no thicker than one inch in diameter. With the collection of lengthy vine, he attempted to attach a string of it to both ends of one of the tall limbs he had gathered. Testing it's strength, he pulled back with great force that caused only the limb to snap in two. Oliver became overwhelmed with frustration, but his famish won over all other emotions.  
Having gathered bundles more of large limbs, Oliver this time grouped three tall limbs, all of generally the same length, that he then tied together tremendously tight at both ends with the nearly unbreakable vine. Oliver proceeded to loop a lengthy bit of vine through the aforementioned binds of vine at the tops and bottoms of the sticks. Knotting the vine securely, he ventured another try at testing the vines strength. Pulling back, the vine tugged the bundle of limbs, bowing them generously, while still retaining it's integrity for the most part. After fashioning several arrows, which Oliver tipped sharp shards of rock, he began his desperate hunt for substantial food.

Blood dripped at a steady rate from his arm as he lept into the shadows at the end of the alley way, running to his motor cycle in the parking garage down the block.  
He returned home, visibly alarmed to fine a black SUV, tinted windows, with no license plate, parked in his driveway. Oliver quietly parked his motorcycle on the side of the curb fifteen yards out, creeping through his front yard, bow in hand. He found his front door partly open, as he slipped inside silently. Gripping in arrow in his right hand, he lined in up in his bow. Moonlight glared through the bay window above his homes entrance, gleaming off the razor tip of the arrow's head. Passing through the hallway ahead of the foyer, he saw the silhouette of a masked man with a gun pass by through the living room. Oliver swept against the left wall of the long hallway, pulling back his arrow. The intruder's attention was set off by the light sounded stretching of the bow's cord. Lunging out from the end of the hallway, Oliver released the arrow to his right while diving forward through his living room. The trespassing assassin fell to the floor with the arrow lodged in his forehead. Double backing through the kitchen and adjacent dining area, blood still trailing from the wound on his arm. He once again was in the foyer as he crept noiselessly up the staircase. Hearing the door of his bedroom, where Dinah was sleeping, creak open, he raced from the loft of the staircase to the end of the hallway. Upon entering he saw another masked assassin aiming a gun directly at Dinah's head from the foot of their bed. Waking to the Ollie's commotion see screamed at the sight of the intruder before her. Oliver shot of three arrow's in almost instant succession of one another as the intruder, like his companion, dropped to the floor, impaled with arrows. Dinah's scream's intensified as Oliver removed his hood, trying to calm her. He quickly gestured for immediate silence as he quickly stepped back through the hallway. Stooping over the railing of the stairs, Oliver saw the blood trail that he had left. Instantly turning to the dining room that connected to the foyer. Listening intently, he heard a creak of someone stepping gingerly across the wood floors of the foyer below. He fired two arrows into the darkness below, relying only on the third intruder's location purely by ear. After a second, a sound of the veiled assassin collapsing echoed up through the house.  
Oliver explored the rest of the house thoroughly after telling Dinah to lock herself in the nearby bathroom. Finding the house to be secure, he returned to comfort Dinah as she sobbed with anxiety and fear.  
"It's okay. We're safe now.", Oliver told warmly, as he tightly embraced her.  
Quickly dressing into bedwear, Oliver phoned the police.

Months had passed as Oliver survived on the uninhabited island. Using his bow and arrows, he killed many small game, and caught fish. His mustache and goatee and grown exponentially into a very large beard. Every night he would sit in front of a small fire he would make. Looking up at the stars, a peacefulness would wash over him before the tumbling waves would let reality sink back in. One such night he spotted red flashing lights not a mile out into the ocean. Realizing it was a ship, he panicked to put more wood onto his fire. After it had grown immensely, Oliver became numb with the fear of the ship not spotting him. His fears, however, were unfounded as the vessel closed in upon the island. A raft was lowered with a deckhand aboard it, maneuvering it to the island. Ollie raced through the shallow water wading in at the shore. He became numb with the surreality of his delight in having been spotted.  
The ship docked in at a harbor in Coast City one week later, where Oliver, having cleaned up his appearance while aboard the charter vessel, tearfully ran towards his girlfriend, Dinah. They embraced one another passionately as Oliver was overcome with the notion of only good days ahead.

The police cleared both Oliver and Dinah, as within their rights to kill their attackers in self-defense, the detective assigned to the case had one puzzling piece of information that he shared with Oliver in the interrogation room.  
"We found this on the body of one the gunmen.", the detective swiftly noted as he slid a plastic bag containing that of a business card belonging to Herman Thatch, with hand written specifcations of Oliver's estimated time of returning home from his flight.  
Oliver leaned back into his chair in shock and disbelief. He became overwhelmed with the gravity of the revelation. His shock, howvever, soon turned to anger.  
"Herman Thatch? Isn't that the CEO of Queen Industries?", the detective stated rhetorically, with a solidarity and confidence inflected in his voice.  
Disgusted, Oliver confirmed to the detective.  
"We cannot know for sure the extent of Mr. Thatch's involvement, but we're going to send this down to the forensic department for fingerprints, and get a linguistics expert to verify the who's hand writing that is. The Star City Police Department is offering you and your immediate family police protection."  
"Dinah's all I have as far as family is concerned.", Oliver admitted, adding humorously, "So I guess I'll have to accept that offer, or she'll kill me."

Oliver took a sip from his cold beer as he set next to Dinah in the living room of a penthouse they had rented.  
"I don't think I'll ever be able to go back to the house, Ollie."  
Oliver sighed, before replying, "I know, babe."  
Dinah leaned against him as he wrapped his arm around her. A news report detailing the attack came on the television set in front of them.  
"The attackers, all fully masked, broke into the house of Queen Industries President Oliver Queen. Mr. Queen is reported to have fended off the gunmen with no more than a bow and arrows. Queen was shot, but only received a minor flesh wound on the arm as he killed all three gunmen in self-defense.", the reporter explained.  
Oliver winced as the attack was described. Dinah leaned away from him.  
"Oliver," she began with a puzzled tone, "I don't remember hearing a gunshot."  
"What do you mean? How else do you think I got this?", he responded with fervor, gesturing at several stitches in his right forearm.  
"I'm a light sleeper, and I know I didn't hear a gunshot."  
Oliver took a moment before replying, furrowing his brow in disbelief, "I can't believe you'd question something like this. I saw one of the guys going into the house, I shot and wounded him, and he clipped me as I shot him again."  
"You shot him? With arrows?", she questioned, adjusting to face him on the couch.  
"Yeah? You know I don't own any guns."  
"Your lying to me, Oliver!"  
"I don't own any guns, Dinah!", Oliver reiterated.  
Her agitation shown through as she continued, "No, that's not what I'm talking about. Your telling me that you had time to get out of bed, grab your bow and quiver, go outside, get shot, and then come back inside where the two 'assassin's' just somehow managed to slip upstairs? And where'd you get that outfit you were wearing that night, anyway?", she pressed.  
Oliver opened his mouth to speak, only to close it, realizing that no fable could twist him out of this tangent of lies he had spun.  
Dinah angrily left him in the living room as she paced with disbelief and frustration before returning.  
"What right do you have, Ollie?! You think you can just go out looking for trouble? Ever since you were rescued from that 'soul searching' venture, you just got this idea, this notion in your head that you're invincible. That the world revolves around you! And since you've cost your company millions of dollars in stock market value, you have the corporate heads trying to kill you just to stop you from ruining the company your father nearly killed himself to establish. Putting your life, my life in danger in the process! Not to mention that you don't even pull you weight in our relationship. You just expect me to do it, you expect everything to go your way. You expect too much, Ollie.", Dinah ranted with a blind aggravation.  
Oliver attempted to interject, to tell his side of the story, only to have Dinah interrupt him.  
"No, Ollie! I don't want to hear another lie out of your mouth. We're done!", she explain with finality.  
Dinah began to head towards the exit to the penthouse, as she gathered her just unpacked suitcase.  
"Dinah! Please wait a minute!", Oliver said.  
"I'm done waiting for you to grow up, Ollie.", she retorted as she drug her suitcase down the extravagant hotel's hallway. Following her, Oliver could hardly utter a word in his defense as she walked into the elevator.  
"Dinah!"  
"Goodbye, Ollie.", she stated with exasperation as she gingled his Mercedes' keys in front of him as the elevator door shut in his face.  
Traveling back to his penthouse suite, mumbling expletives under his breath, he caught another news report on the television.  
"Nearly fifty miles off the coast of Somali, two small ships were found containing the deceased bodies of fourteen people. One vessel was a fishing boat, where several fishermen were found, their bodies mutilated. The second was a yacht, christened "The Queen", where eleven Somalian pirates were found, their bodies also mutliated. Among the corpses where three bodies yet to be identified, though they were found wearing peculiar armor, the autopsy report also revealed that no blade could penetrate their skin for some unknown reason. Medical experts across the country are looking into an explaination.", the report described.  
"You've gotta be kidding.", Oliver muttered, recognizing his long lost yacht from the helicopter flyby footage shown.


	7. JL Chapter 7: A Space Opera

**Chapter Seven - A Space Opera**

**Coast City, California**

"Hal, nothing special today, please.", a woman said softly, with a certain authority.  
Hal Jordan, the man to whom she is referring to, is in the cockpit of an F-35A Lightning II Fighter Jet. A jet that is still in it's test phase, with hopes to succeed the F-16 Fighter Falcon in 2028. He grinned with his features veiled under a fighter helmet and oxygen mask.  
He engaged the throttle to maximum towards the west end of one of the fourteen runways at Ferris Air.  
"Woah.", Fighter pilot Hal Jordan mumbled under his breath.  
"Acceleration too much for you, Hal?", the gorgeous brunette questioned jokingly through Ferris Air's control towers communications.  
"Never.", he replied in a comfortable fashion through the communications in his headgear.  
Hal Jordan displayed the accertiveness of an ace pilot while continuing at a extreme velocity down the Ferris Air runway.  
With nearly one-thousand and five-hundred feet of the runway left, the nose of the jet began to lift, as it increased speed. Soon the landing gear was off the ground as the F-35 rised to an angle of fifteen degrees, and before long Hal was high in the air over the Californian plains. He raised his altitude to around twenty-thousand feet before leveling out.  
"Jordan, for convienence, we did not give this particular F-35 a combat load. Instead, your internal fuel capacity is only at roughly twelve-hundred gallons, rather than a max amount of twenty-nine-hundred gallons.", Carol Ferris, the woman in the control tower, determined.  
"Why is that?", Hal questioned reluctantly.  
"You didn't read the test briefing, did you?", Carol inquired with a dry sense of frustration.  
Hal continued radio silence for a moment before responding, "No."  
"I shouldn't be surprised,", Carol radioed back, ending with a sigh before continuing, "Todays test is refueling. You were given a little under half fuel capacity so when you were refueling, you aren't pretending to. Real simple. Got that, Hal?"  
"Simple. Got it."  
"We don't have any refueling aircraft available today, so you'll be AAR'ed by a KC-135 Stratotanker from Vandenberg Air Force Base. The cordinates where you are to refuel are 35.931 North, 116.227 West."  
"Copy that."

Minutes later, Hal Jordan arrived at the latitude and longitude Carol gave him, quickly noticing the Stratotanker. Although he is now out of range of Ferris Air's control tower.  
"Vanderberg tanker, do you copy?", Hal radioed to the Stratotanker.  
"Yes, over.", the pilot of the KC-135 responded.  
"Give me your speed, and I'll get into position."  
"Maintain a velocity of four-hundred miles per hour, and we'll start lowering the boom, over.", the Stratotanker pilot informed, speaking of the extendable fuel rod.  
Hal adjusted his speed, while flipping the fuel injection switch that opened the fuel intake cover. A boom operator mans an eight-direction control column to maneuver the boom and attach it to Jordans fuel intake.  
As the boom attached, his Green Lantern ring began to glow, emanating through the glove on his right hand. A emerald hologram projected an image in front of him of a Guardian of the Universe. Hal was slightly startled by such an intrusion, but he was more shocked about the time and place in which it happend.  
"Hal Jordan, of Sector 2814; Return to Oa immediately.", the elderly Guardian demanded in a authoritative pitch.  
"Kind of busy right now.", Hal retorted quietly, panicking about whether the boom operator could see the green hologram.  
"You shall return with no further delay.", the Guardian reiterated.  
"Got it. No delay.", Hal replied hurriedly.  
The projection soon faded and the glowing of his ring ceased.  
"Everything okay back there, Jordan?", the tanker pilot questioned.  
"Peachy, Trevor." he started sarcastically, further stating in a rushed voice, "Alright I'm topped off. Test complete."  
"Copy that. We're heading back to Vanderberg. Me and my buddies gotta fly some F-16's over the pacific to verify some disturbance on radar that the Navy picked up. Catch ya later, Jordan.", the pilot mentioned as the boom detached and they shifted their coordinance and speed in route back to Vanderberg Air Force Base.  
"Have fun with that.", Hal commented sarcastically.  
His ring soon began to illuminate once more, this time the rings internal sentience informed him, "No lifeforms in vicinity, return to Oa immediately.", in a computerized, yet feminine voice.  
"You too, Brutus?", Hal quipped.  
"Authorization: Malthus.", the ring stated.  
"'Malthus', what the hell is 'Malthus'?", Hal asked inquisitively.  
The rings brightness increased, as the glow encapsulated his entire body. The ring then blasted a direct beam at the glass ceiling of the cockpit, enveloping his F-35 in its green aura also. The jets nose tilted directly upwards and his instruments flashed, alerting him that it is stalling. The engine began producing puttering noises as the jet safely left Earths atmosphere, encased in his rings protective green shield.  
Still in the cockpit, Hal's official corps uniform started to cover his body, making his fighter pilot suit appear to vanish as the green aura overlaps it. His costume was a crisp green around most of his body, with breaks of a dull black in between the upper parts of his limbs. His corps insignia burned vibrantly at the center of his chest. His masculine facial features became apparent, along with his wavy brown hair. Lastly, his green domino mask formed over his face with a fiery incandescent illumination, turning his eyes a deep, milky white.  
After leaving Earth's gravitational influence, the ring activated a massive swirling vortex in space that transported Hal to Sector 0; homeworld to the ancient Guardians of the universe, on the planet Oa.

Upon exiting the dynamic vortex, he arrived in sight of Oa, a golden colored world with a vast projection of green energy blasting out from the planets equatorial center.  
"Can I have control now?!", Hal Jordan yelled in a demanding boisterousness.  
The sentience of his ring responded coldy, "Auto-pilot disengaged."  
The F-35 began to plummit to the Oan surface rapidly, as the engine struggled to restart after it's previous stalling incident. Hal attempted quickly to take control of the jet itself using his ring, but not soon enough as the aircraft was a mere thirty yards from the silvery, marble-like surface of the alien world. The craft is in a nose-diving free-fall before a it is suddenly wrapped in a thick green projection. The startling shift in velocity jolts Hal forward into the glass capsule of the cockpit, as the jet is held some five yards above the majestic silver bridgeways of the Guardians homeworld.  
"What new death-trap is this, Jordan?", a deep, gravelly vocal that penetrates the sealed glass capsule of Hal Jordan's cockpit.  
In his frustration, he focuses the energy from his ring all the way around the seal of the clear enclosure, ejecting it completely from the jet itself. He flies out at a slow pace and lands on the glossy, alien surface.  
His surroundings were obviously of alien origin. With many tall structures of various design accentuating the green aura the planet disperses from below the silver bridgeways and paths.  
In front of him is the incredibly large and bulky humanoid figure of a grotesque alien in a nearly matching uniform. Each limb of this alien beast is thicker than the waist of Hal. His heighth is an intimidating twelve feet tall. The skin of this alien is rough, and of a dull pink complexion. A bold jaw-line with round protuberances in between the large alien creatures mouth make up the most attention grabbing facial feature, along with two small, rounded ears sitting on top his broad head. With eyes set securely underneath his naturally furrowed brow. This beast, also wearing a Green Lantern ring, has his right, four fingered hand clenched tightly. A vast, green beam is projecting from this hulking aliens ring.  
"It's called a jet, Kilowog.", Hal asserts.  
"What, is that like some kinda spacecraft, Poozer? Why on Bolovax Vik would you have to fly a spacecraft when you can fly without one?", the brutish alien known as Kilowog asks with an inflection of jest as he holds the F-35 up with the green beam from his ring clasping the back of the jet.  
"First of all, it is an aircraft. Secondly, it's my job to fly them. And thirdly, it gives you one hell of an adrenaline rush.", the ace-pilot explains.  
Kilowogs vice-like grip of the jet with his ring fades slowly as he relaxes his arm, dropping it back to his side. The jet plummits to the ground, the nose smashing in, while the back end falls horizontally, right side up. The underneath of the jet crumples under the misplaced pressure that the lack of the landing gear causes.  
"Real nice, Kilowog.", Hal Jordan says with a sarcastic voice.  
"You Earthmen never cease to surprise me.", Kilowog chuckles.  
A second humanoid alien flies towards Hal and Kilowog, slowing its approach as it reaches them, and floats a few feet from the ground, with an approximate heighth of seven feet. Its figure is thin and spindly. The head of the alien was elongated, strangely similar to the shape of a flounder, but with multiple protrusions down each side of its cranium. Its eyes were set halfway up its head. No mouth is visble. With four upper limbs coverging at its shoulder joints, the odd physique of the alien was complete.  
Various other strange and alien lanterns fly to and fro around them.  
"The Guardians request your presence immediately.", the alien form before them vocalized without seeming to.  
"I've heard, Salakk.", Hal spouts with annoyance.

Escorted to the Guardians ancient citadel by Salakk, he flies through the chambers entrance and into the court of the Guardians.  
Each elder of Oa is short of stature, with slightly enlarged heads. Some Guardians are bald, while others sport small amounts of white hair, save for one whose hair is rather long and collected into a pony tail. Their skin is pale blue, adding only more to their alien appearance. Adorned with red robes, with the same matching symbols that each and every Green Lantern wears on his chest and ring. They appear indefinitely wise, and calculative sitting individually upon pedestals made of the same marble-like material as the many structures on Oa. There are nine of them situated in a half-circle at the far side of the chamber.  
Hal Jordan lands in the center of the chamber, with each Guardian placed approximately four feet above him. Each one of them peering into Hal's eyes.  
"Green Lantern of Sector 2814," a Guardian begins with a monotone introduction of Hal, "Do you know why you were requested to be here under such urgent circumstances?", the billions of years old being inquired.  
"I wish for the love of God some one would tell me!", Hal exclaims with a pint of a frustration.  
"Watch your tone, Hal Jordan!", another Guardian warns.  
"Your presence was requested so that you could be made aware of an incoming threat to your sector. An interdimensional disturbance in space and time has been detected in your sector.", one Guardian begins.  
"The last time an equivalent force occured was some thirty of your Earth years ago.", another finishes.  
"Sector 2815, your neighboring sector. The planet Krypton was annhilated, every inhabitant killed."  
"The cause of such destruction is still unknown. Green Lantern of Sector 2815 was killed attempting to prevent this aforementioned devastation. His replacement, Tomar-Re was responsible for identifying both the annhilation of Krypton, and cause of death of his predecessor. He has found no evidence to answer either."  
"You alone, Hal Jordan, are tasked with preventing such a catastrophe in your sector."  
Hal is stunned by the Guardians' revelations.  
"Do you hear yourselves? You're 'tasking' me with protecting my sector from a looming catastrophe that destroyed a planet, and killed that sectors Green Lantern? At the very least allow Tomar-Re to assist me!", Hal nearly demanded of the ancient Guardians of the Universe.  
"The book of Oa strictly prohibits Green Lanterns from fraternizing in one anothers sectors.", a Guardian replied boldly.  
"Why?!", Hal Jordan, Green Lantern of Sector 2814 angrily questions. "Abin Sur was killed because no one helped him escort a prisoner to the planet Ysmault! Why can't Green Lanterns help each other?!", Hal continued, venting his frustration towards the Guardians.  
"You go too far, human!", a Guardian retorts.  
"Abin Sur was murdered because he felt fear. The laws in the book of Oa have guided us for many of your lifetimes. We see no discernable reason to change any law based upon a rare planetary disaster."  
"Your judgement is blind.", Hal asserts.  
"And yours is infantile! Already you waste more time when you could be preventing the coming destruction of a world.", another Guardian rebuttaled.  
Hal becomes silent, apparently realizing he is getting nowhere with the ancient protectors of the Universe. Though he doesn't stay quiet for too long.  
"What world?", he asks, noticeably calmer.  
The Guardians disrupt their eye contact with Hal below them, and look at one another briefly, save for the long-haired Guardian, who never looks away from Hal.  
"Earth.", the only differentiable Guardian replies solemnly, almost with a heavy heart.  
Shock envelopes Hal, as his feet become numb, and his neck stiffens. He boldly fights off the entangling weight of fear, clinching his fist with such will that his ring glows brightly without intention.

**Sector 2815**

"The Guardians are going to expel all three of us!", a bizarre, beaked figure in the uniform of a Green Lantern exclaimed. It's skin was scaly, and orange. A fin stood atop it's head with many points, as it squinted it's golden eyes as if in preparation of his formal dismissal from the Guardians.  
"The Guardians know I am right, Tomar.", Hal attested as they floated in space, some million miles from the radiance of a red sun.  
The third being was also of human like appearance, although differientated by his pink skin, pointed ears, and a dark, slicked back widows peak coiffure.  
"I do not believe you care what the Guardians think of you, Jordan.", the pink skinned Green Lantern defined. His pronunciation was clean and proper as each word was uttered from his mouth, which above bore a thin black mustache. "This is the remnants of Krypton. Why did you bring us here, Jordan? To spite the Guardians?", the alien Green Lantern continued.  
"That isn't the only reason, Sinestro.", Hal answered in low tone.  
Besides the emptiness of space, the vacinity was riddled with rocky debris. The left overs of the planet Krypton had nearly recreated a ring around it's massive host star. An eerie feeling resonated throughout the scene, an air of death.  
Hal raised his ring close to him, ordering of the most powerful weapon in all of the universe, "Ring, scan for teleportation... affects?", he asked unsurely.  
"Request unknown.", his ring replied mechanically.  
Sinestro piped in, "Ring, Scan for interdimensional residuum."  
After a moment, Sinestro's ring scanned the astroid field of the planet Krypton, replying, "Scan Complete. Apokoliptian Motherboxx technology detected."  
"What the hell is 'Motherboxx technology'?", Hal inquired boldly.  
"You never did study the book of Oa, did you, Jordan.", Sinestro spoke rhetorically.  
Tomar-Re only smirked at the comment.  
"Motherboxx is a teleportation technology used by two planetary beings. One is the beings of New Genesis, and the others are the scoundrels from Apokolips. They claim godship, though that remains to be seen.", explained Sinestro, as he deftly captured a loose green particle of Krypton with a clasp of his ring's energy.  
"Why does it glow green like our rings?", wondered Tomar, curiously.  
"Ring?", Hal questioned.  
"The planet most likely underwent unsustaneable pressures at it's core, during the formation process, causing an abundant amount of rare planetary elements to form. After the course of the planets unknown befalling, the majority of the elemental fragments have been bombarded by it's own sun's solar radiation.", the ring determined astutely.  
"What now?", Tomar pondered.  
"I guess we need to pay Apokolips a visit.", Hal defined boldly.

**Apokolips**

"Where is he?!", a tall bearded man bellowed, speaking with a proper accent.  
He wore silk garments of dark purple and black that draped over him with no symmetry. With hair and beard as black as the abyss, and eyes to match, the man's appearance alone could strike terror into anyone. Standing in an underground dungeon, various pale young men were imprisoned around him in small cubicles with a width and heighth of only two feet. There was no room for movement, as each one of them was trapped in a fetal position. The front facing part of the small cubes had a window with which the young prisoners could look through to see their fellow captives. The corridor in this section of the dungeon was long and narrow, with cubicles of prisoners lined up on both sides of the dark stone walls. Each prisoner was bald, and wore tattered white clothes from head to toe.  
The intimidating man stood before one such cubicle, devoid of it's prisoner, though it did not look breached in any way.  
"Where is he?!", he reiterated, yelling much louder than before. The figure breathed angrily, with his mouth gaping open.  
Massive looking guards rushed to the tall man's presence. Ragged metal armor concealed their chests, while filthy sackcloth covered the rest of them. Their faces were bizarre in appearance, with no nose, a very broad brow, and razor like fangs in their wide mouths.  
"I am unsure, Kanto.", one of them gargled.  
The bearded man, Kanto, unsheathed a sword from underneath his silk trappings, and plunged it through the metal chest armor, and into the beast's heart with a mighty thrust. The other guard moved to the side of his falling accompaniment.  
"Find him.", Kanto demanded of the remaining guard.

The young man they were searching for was a large distance from his small cell. Nearly indistinguishable from his fellow prisoners in appearance, the boy had something about him. A purity that no soul on Apokolips could steal from him. His blue eyes gleamed in the dim light of a narrow shaft deep beneath the surface, and miles away from his hellacious prison as he crawled tirelessly to his freedom. The seventeen year old held firmly a small electronic device; a Motherboxx. Peaking from the end of the shaft, he saw the world around him, something he hadn't seen for a number of years. His joy of freedom was hallow, as it seemed no more to him than escaping one hell for the next. Standing in the light of the radiation belt around the black hole that shone in place of a star, his frail structure became apparent. His attention was drawn upward, near Darkseid's tower, as he saw three men flying towards it's top, all emanating a green aura around them. Cracking open the Motherboxx, unimaginable bright light bursted forth from it's inner workings. Instantaneously, the young man vanished without a trace along with the beaming light and the Motherboxx itself.


	8. JL Chapter 8: The Red Ghost

**Chapter Eight - The Red Ghost**

**Central City, City Hall**

"Hello, I'm Iris West. We apologize for the interruption of scheduled programming, but we bring you breaking news. Our sources are reporting that NASA is soon to announce something of great importance during their Mars Rover Curiosity's debriefing, which is soon to start right here in Central City, home of the Rovers launch.", a auburn haired news woman announced in front of a camera just outside the Central City capital.

A commitee of NASA officials situate themselves around a table atop a stage, that below hosts several news media, including that of KTWY's Iris West.  
"Good evening,", a NASA Rover specialist spoke, "As you all now, our Rover Curiosity was sent, not too far behind Spirit and Opportunity. It landed further outside it's intended location. Though, we were prepared for this.", he continued, his voice quaking at parts.  
A projection appeared upon a white screen behind them, of a basin in Mars' northen hemisphere. The official stood up, and pointed at the presumed location of the Rover Curiosity.  
"We have determined it's approximate location via satallite not long after it's landing. It landed here, two-thousand miles southwest of the 'Louth Crater'. It followed it's set programming, and began to take pictures as soon as it motored off it's landing pad.", he detailed reluctantly, pausing before stating further, "It was... also programmed that if it saw any movements, to record video. The following film may be startling."  
The grainy projection commenced playing the video. A wide view of the Martian landscape was first to come into view, before the Rover's camera focused in on a silver object that oscillated ever closer into view. A robust machine came into view, it's eyes flaring a bold purple. It was more akin to an earthly man than any robot a human has devised.  
The crowd of reporters sat in all, their eagerness leaving them and being replaced by fear, awe and what ever other emotions such a sight would conjure up  
The robot, made of metal, moved so swiftly that it's motions were almost frighteningly familiar. The Martian machine came ever close before it lept out of view in the blink of an eye. The camera was left out of focus, as it struggled to adjust and find the source of the movement once more. Moments later the robot of Mars landed just feet from the rover, stirring up small clouds of reddened sand around him, before a lengthy arm of metal extended and the covered the camera. The picture now black, audio of the metal Martian ripping the rover apart is played out, before all communication with the Rover ceased.  
Gasps from the press filled the large room, as pictures flashed and clicked concurrently. With the projector shut off, and the white screen rolled up, discussion began on the implications therein of such a finding. Reporters jolted from their chairs, microphones handy, spouting questions all at once. Hardly a word could be made out of the garbled barrage of inquiries.  
Iris herself seemed to stand out from the crowd of answer hungry press, asking professionally, "So does this mean there is, or once was life on Mars?"  
Her colleagues and peers, even top reporters from national networks become silent, as if profound that they didn't ask that question themselves.

"Barry? You there?", Iris asked, on her phone. "You sound busy... I just have to tell you about the NASA press conference... Why can't I tell you right now, you said you weren't busy?... Is Murdoch still making you stay late at the station?... Alright, I'll see you at home tonight then? Okay, bye honey, love-", she continued of her phone call, before being hung up on.

**One minute ago**

Across town, in the financial district of Central City, five masked men attempt to rob the Central City Nation Bank.  
"No one move. No one duck. No one flinch, and you won't get your brains blown out. Is that clear? If some tries to sound an alarm, everyone here will die.", one of the masked men addressed of the somewhat crowded bank. His shoulders were broad, his voice deep. He carried with him a semi-automatic handgun.  
Two more of his men carried shotguns, while the last two held no more than large brown sacks, undoubtedly for the copious amounts of money they are trying to heist.  
The room remains still, and save for some panicked breathing, and gasps of fear the bank lobby was silent. One of bank robbers reached for a couple chains and padlocks that he then wrapped loosely around the handles of the dual glass entrance doors of the bank. Before securing the lock on the second, and last chain, the door thrusted open, hitting him on the head. He fell to the lobby floor unconscious as a reddish blur swept across the room.  
"What the hell was that?!", one of the gun toting men charged fearfully.  
"Antonio, finish locking the door!", the lead bank robber ordered, adjusting the grip upon his weapon.  
"Mentioning names? That isn't smart. Oh, and are you sure you want to be locked in here with me?", a mysterious voice ecompassed the room.  
The robbers turn around violently to spot the brazen person who threatened them so arrogantly.  
"Which one of you said that?!", the lead robber demanded.  
Looking around the room, one such citizen looked particularly frightened. The gun wielding bank robber advanced towards this man. Boldly aiming his semi-automatic handgun only three feet from his head.  
"You got balls enough to speak up, but when it comes down to it, they just shrivell right up, don't they?", the robber refuted plainly. His demeanor changed in an instant, from a driven attitude to an air of derangement, with the only impurity being that of a tweak of frustration.  
His finger winced against the trigger, as it discharged a burst of fire at a snail's pace from within the muzzle. Three bullets exited, one after the other, moving at centimeters for what seemed like minutes. The people in the lobby, along with the robbers themselves moved not an inch. The scene was still, excluding one man.  
His physical structure primed to the limit, as though every bit of muscle in his body is constantly strained and worked to their brink. A red attire was soundly conformed over his fit physique, covering everything but his nose, mouth, and jaw line. Golden boots were fastened to his feet, nearly to his knees. Several jagged gold bands were inlaid around his waist and forearms. Metal lightning shaped tips converged parallel to his head, apparently attach to sparkling gold cuffs covering his ears. Lastly, a white circle graced the center of his chest, with a glowing yellow lighting symbol in it's center. Stark yellow charges of electricity twitch and spurt from one point of his body to another harmlessly.  
The man in red briskly walked towards the gunman, tapping the bullets that almost appear in place not an inch from the barrel of the gun. They float steadily from their projected paths. He is mildly startled by a buzzing in his ear, though his reaction calms quickly. Pressing in on the cuff over his right ear.  
"Yeah?", he spoke. Continuing one side of a conversation he is having with someone on an ear-phone, he responded sporadically, "No, I'm not... Can it wait?... Well, I am sort of busy... You better believe he is. He's pretty insistent on this one cold case in particular... Yep, see you tonight. Love you."  
He speedily plucked each individual bullet from the air, while also ejecting the clip from the robbers handgun. He dropped the bullets onto the floor, as each of them fell at a rapid, normal velocity. The clip dropped the to floor a similarly quick rate. The gunman appeared in utter shock as the bullets lie on the floor between him and the citizen, while the clip of his gun lies useless at his feet.  
"What?!", he blurted out, noticeably in awe and confusion.  
His men shared similar expressions.  
"I believe you're looking for me?", the speedy vigilante uttered.  
Each gunman jumped at the sight of the man suited up in red. His steps were broad, and nearly as quick as a bolt of lightning. His right arm was locked in a pulled back position and within the blink of an eye, his fist had graced the lower jaw of the lead bank robber. The impact it had sent the thief across the lobby, aimed right towards a crowd of people. No more than a gust of wind was felt, and a red flash was seen when in the fraction of a moment the man in red caught the airborne thug across the room, and shifted his momentum as he slammed him to the sleek marble floor. A few of the hostages blurt out screams of confusion, as the bank tellers remain ducked behind their desks. One of the two other gunmen dropped his shotgun, and laid down on the ground. The other sought a much different approach. Pulling the trigger on his sawn off shotgun, the discharged slug seemed to exit the barrel, and concurrently vanish. As chunks of dry wall misted from above, the shooter gazed upwards to find the slug had been somehow redirected upwards. The robbers with the sacks for the money dropped quickly to the ground with their hands on their heads. By this time the shooters pants had been shucked to his ankles, and he was tossed against one of the inner beams of the bank by the vigilante.  
"That's why you should wear a belt.", the scarlet rescuer suggested brashly.  
Yellow currents of electricity flickered from his chest to the metal lightning attachments on both sides of his head as he raced around the bank at the speed of light. The bank began to empty of hostages and tellers.  
"It's okay, I've got you.", he told assuredly to one of the tellers as he pushed the panic button under her desk, and picked her up. Before she could even process a word he had said, she was already safely outside with her rescuer nowhere in sight. Peering back into the bank through one of the glass doors, inside she saw all five of the bank robbers physically subdued, and a red blur streak to the back exit of the Central City National Bank.

That night, Barry was intimately greeted by his girlfriend, Iris, upon his arrival home.  
"What took you so long?", Iris questioned sweetly, sifting her hand through his short blond hair.  
"Murdoch is keeping everyone at the precinct late working on these cold cases.", he responded with forced exasperation.  
"So did you hear?", his auburn haired girlfriend inquired of him enthusiastically.  
"About what?", Barry retorted gingerly.  
"The NASA Conference!"  
"Oh, right! Right. So, did they find water on Mars or something?"  
Iris smirked, flipping her eyes at him with vivacity, "No. Just a robot.", she retorted with a mundane tone.  
"A robot? Like another rover?", Barry wondered with confusion.  
"No, like a martian robot. That was the story I was covering all day today. Well, that, and this 'red ghost' that stopped that bank robbery this afternoon.", Iris replied in anticipation of Barry's shock.  
"You can't be serious. A martian robot? Built by martians?"  
"Appears so. Anyway, there is some take-out in the fridge. I would of heated it up, but I wasn't sure when you'd be home.", Iris said, heading towards their bedroom.  
"Where are you going?", he questioned.  
"I've gotta get up in like four hours to interview some of those hostages about the 'red ghost' tomorrow."

In the bathroom adjacent to the bedroom, Iris cautiously glanced at the results of a pregnancy test she had just taken. Dropping it on the floor, she leaned over the sink sobbing quietly.


	9. JL Chapter 9: Dreams of Eden

**Chapter Nine - Dreams of Eden**

**The planet Krypton, thirty-one years ago**

Inside a decadent mansion, an old man pleads for his life. On his knees, with no one around, he begs for mercy.  
"Don't do this, please!", he said, visibly shaking.  
"You have taught me all I need know from you, my creator. You should show gratitude to me for allowing your life to end at such an elder age for your species.", a cold, mechanical voice determined of the man's fate. His presence was nowhere in sight.  
The elderly Kryptonian's breathing rapidly became heavier, until he collapsed. The tears running from his eyes began to boil and freeze simultaneously. All traces of oxygen had been evacuated from his lavish home as he lay dead across the floor.

An infant's cry reverberated throughout the stout halls of a modest domocile. The floors were of a glossy stone that partook in the mirrored image of an entrancingly beautiful mother calmy lulling the infant in her arms. She was clothed in a long red dress, with drapings of black. Her dark brown hair extended past her shoulders, as it flowed slightly upon the entrance of the homes opening.  
"Jor-El?", she uttered softly.  
A tall man entered the hallway in which she paced. Silk trappings followed behind his every step as he quietly addressed his wife, Lar-El.  
"The meeting is over.", he whispered.  
"What is the Science Guild's determination?", Lar-El queried with baited breath.  
"They have found that fleets from Apokolips are already on their way.", Jor-El answered glumly.  
Lar-El's eyes began to water as she held her child close. Tears dropped from her cheeks with such weight, it was as if all her emotions were contained in them.  
"The invading ships will have most of the cities under patrol within the night.", he detailed further.  
"What do they want?!", she blared out with fear and frustration. The baby whined at her disruption.  
"Nothing.", he declared hopelessly, "Nothing less than our extinction."  
The two stood in silence for sometime.  
Lar-El's voice quaked as she pondered, "And what of Kal-El? What will happen to our son?"  
Jor-El coudn't concieve an answer that wouldn't shake the very core of his grip on reality.  
"Kal-El's life will end before it hardly begins!", she stated further, cradling her son in her arms securely.  
"We must escape. We must leave Krypton.", Jor-El asserted. "Brainiac," he beckoned of the sentient technology that was the infrastructure of Kryptonian society, "Calculate estimated prep for podular launch into interplanetary space."  
"Request denied.", Brainiac replied swiftly, his mechanical voice emanating from no singular point in the home.  
"Denied? I am Jor-El, son of Sar-El-", the strong Krpytonian proclaimed before his interruption.  
"Request denied.", the mechanical voice reiterated. "No one escapes Darkseid.", it continued ominously.  
Jor-El was struck with disbelief.  
"I have acquired, through an evolution, an indomitable resolve to finish what can only be described a task riddled with impossibilities. The equation of my task is far simpler then even you forsee.", Brainiac detailed with no discretion.  
Jor-El spoke not a word more. His attitude was calm, and inconspicuous. Attempting to vacate their home with his wife and child, the front exit refused to open at their presence.  
"I do not wish to harm you, or you loved ones, Jor-El. I do not wish to hold you captive. You and your loved ones may travel Krypton far and wide. You may not, however, leave it.", the technological being spoke indefinitely  
"Understood.", Jor-El muttered.  
Retreating away from the exit, he calmly entered his personal laboratory while his wife sat nearby in the living quarters. She gently wrapped Kal-El in a red swaddling cloth, as she hummed a sweet lullaby.  
The decor of the home was modern in appearance, and rigid in shape. The few pieces of furniture in the living area were of a smoothened stone with many hides and furs positioned haphazardly across them. The home was circumferenced by large bay windows all the way around each outer wall of the domocile, as the reddened rays of their sun passed discretely through them.  
Jor-El retrieved a small device from beneath a pile of metal scraps in one of the compartments in the wall.  
"What is that?", Brainiac asked, curious of Jor-El's intentions.  
"I've been working on this for some time now, Brainiac.", he countered.  
"Without my knowledge?"  
"It would have been no good to me otherwise."  
"You know I cannot let you use it against me.", the mechanical voice said decidingly.  
"I already have.", Jor-El revealed.  
The lighting in the room flickered until the power shut off completely. All remained silent until the solar reserve power kicked in. The lights returned, although much dimmer.  
"I may be a computer program, but I am intergrated deep enough into Kryptonian life that nothing can keep me out.", Brainiac threatened with disgust.  
"Very true, Brainiac. Though, in your unavoidable programming to absorb all knowledge of Krypton, you will find the dagger that I have thrusted into your heart.", Jor-El retaliated.

**Some years before**

Two men vigorously debated amongst themselves in dimly lit quarters. One man was young, albeit, younger than his aforementioned company, who was of the solid age of sixty.  
"You don't know what type of repercussions something like this can cause. We cannot put our faith in something not of flesh, Kan-Oi.", the young man determined.  
"Jor-El. Must we discuss this once more? You are devoid of trust in my abilities to control something of my creation, no?", the man of age, Kan-Oi asked.  
"Trust is not the issue-", Jor-El retorted.  
"Obviously it is.", interrupted Kan-Oi, as he walked towards the exit. "I have a ceremony to commence. We shall discuss this later.", he continued, soon leaving the room.

The city of Kandor, the sanctuary city upon the peaceful planet Krypton, was disrupted with bolstering announcements throughout of the 'Guardian of Krypton'. The skies above were filled with the passing by of small personal aircraft flying to and fro chaotically. Masses of people collected below around a stage which one man stood atop.  
"The top scientists on Krypton, myself included, have devised a technological program so advanced, so innovative that it will replace our society's infrastructure with ease!", Kan-Oi, the leader of Krypton described. "It is called "Brainiac". His task is to assist us in everyday life, and to record our planets history. To be an eletronic database of what Krypton was, what it is, and what great place it shall soon be!", he proclaimed, indulging in the pride he must feel from such an accomplishment.  
The citizens of Kandor soon formed a line leading towards a central hub. A clear pane of glass beckoned each man's attention. Inlaid in the glass were three titanium spheres, each jetting outwards from both sides of the pane. The spheres were position in a "V" like shape, with surges of yellow electrical current connecting each of the three.  
Kan-Oi stood beside the pane of glass as each citizen approached, some olden relic of their histories past in their hands. Extending their family treasures outwards, the spheres of the machine would be consumed by a wave of green energy around them.  
"Token of Bin-Var, warrior general of the fourth Kryptonian period.", the subdued tone of Brainiac uttered forth to the shock of all in earshot.  
The smile on Kan-Oi's face could not have been wider, as he was overcome with great pride in his creation. Jor-El, his turn in line, approached the central station of Brainiac, with his fiancee.  
"It is so great to see you, my daughter.", Kan-Oi said, embracing the youthful Lar-El. "I am just as glad to see you, my son.", he added of Jor-El.  
Lar-Oi brought forth a silver ornament.  
"Forged from ore out of the Punta caverns. A relic of the ninth period of the Oi ancestory. Worn beautifully by my creators beloved, I might add.", Brainiac detailed with little effort.  
"Thank you, Brainiac.", the leader of Krypton proudly replied.  
Next, Jor-El approached. Noticeably apprehensive, he stood in thought for a few moments.  
"Do not be reluctant, Jor-El, I am only here to serve you to the best of my ability. Inquire what you would like.", the machine assured.  
"What are your motives?", he asked without pause.  
"To serve you. To serve Krypton, while being a collective database of all that you are.", gratiously, Brainiac replied.  
Jor-El let go of his petty distrust of Brainiac, and raised his an ancestoral relic into view. Cylindrical, it had engravings of symbols marking every millimeter on it's one inch diameter. Made of hardened volcanic rock, it gave off a numbing sensation to whoever touched it. The symbols were as unfamiliar to Kan-Oi, and Lar-Oi as they were to Brainic itself. The sentient computer delayed any response for a brief moment.  
Before long, Brainiac noted of the item, "This relic is older than the recorded history of Krypton. The markings are untranslateable. My apologies."  
"That is quite alright.", Jor-El assured, as he and his fiancee stepped away, and the jovial ceremony continued.

**Presently**

Jor-El retrieved the ancient artifact from a small chest in the living area, parallel Lar-El and their son.  
Nervously, Brainiac spouted, "You've rebooted my programming. My processors are only working at half capacity. The symbols on that artifact aren't Kryptonian. It is a coding.", continuing as his voice whirringly buzzed, "Its data has corrupted me."  
Jor-El stood in thought, before he explained to Brainiac, "One night, long ago, I awoke from this vision. It gripped me so tightly that I couldn't shake the feeling of utter doom it impressed upon me.  
A man, sitting atop a levitating throne that eclipsed our fiery red sun, addressed me by name. I could not make out any such feature of this man, as he was shrouded by the surrounding glow of the sun. Hardly, I would not even know his gender if it wasn't for his voice. In a booming tone, he warned me of a 'malevolent intrusion into the life of our world', he said. 'It will be welcomed with cheers and a joyous celebration', he told me that more than Krypton itself was at stake.  
He approached closer in, as he whispered to me a location where I would find an artifact that would 'avenge my world, and that I should send it off world'. I stammered to reply to such a statement.  
"How do you mean, 'avenge'?! Is there no stopping this catastrophe?", I balked incredulously at this being. His eyes began to glow a terrifying white, as he gripped the arm supports of his skyward perch. 'Do not take my forewarning lightly. Your world will die. Only one will survive. He will be a beacon of hope for many, and he is our only hope for the universe.', he expressed aggressively.  
"Who is he? How can any such man, devoid of any godhood, save the universe?", I pondered ignorantly.  
'You will know him when you see him, for his name is Kal.', the being told me with ambiguity.  
When I awoke from the nightmare, I could barely grasp all of its contents. I presumed it was no more than a dream, and put it behind me.  
Years later, my wife would give birth to my son. We hadn't even decided on a name, waiting to meet him first. The moment I saw him, I knew his name. Kal-El.  
That very night, I arrived at the location in which the mysterious being had described. A lake, sixteen miles west of Kandor. At the bottom of this lake was an orb that a glowed a heavenly yellow. Inside it, I found the artifact with which he detailed."  
Lar-El, shocked and overwhelmed but such a revelation unbeknownst to her, warmingly cradled the slumbering Kal-El firmly in her arms.  
Brainiac's processors were still working up to this moment, yet he spoke not a word more.  
Jor-El gestured for his wife to follow, as he approached the front entrance of his home. The door slide open at his presence, no longer held shut by Brainiac. His wife leaned against him as they slowly walked towards their observatory some hundred yards from their home. Inside, Jor-El accessed a small shuttle that had been hidden below the stone floor. Lar-El activated the parting roof of the observatory, noticing the skies ripping open to thunderous portals.  
Jor-El clutched his son tightly as he and Lar-El gently kissed him on the forehead. Wrapped securely in his red swaddling cloth, they placed him inside the shuttle pod. Lar-El sobbed quietly, as she placed the silver ornament which had been passed through the women in her family for countless generations, into the pod with her son.  
Tucking the ancient artifact into the pod also, Jor-El spoke solemnly, "Make us proud, my son."  
The pod lifted off the ground, and sped through Krypton's atmosphere, narrowly avoiding the incoming of countless ships raining down hellfire onto Krypton. Jor-El and Lar-El gazed upwards as the shuttle exceeded their view, embracing one another.

Within the night, Krypton was flooded with the demon creatures of Apokolips. Giant warships consumed the night sky, firing distinctive black beams into the surface of Krypton. The ground underneath each beam dissolved quickly, as the entire planet began to shake. This went on for one week, as Jor-El and his wife stayed out of sight in their isolated home in the rural outskirts beyond the mountains of Krypton.  
Slowly, the planet began to cave in on itself. Those that survived up to this point were clinging to their loved ones as the end was only moments away.  
Jor-El and Lar-El stood as a levitating device recorded their last thoughts and moments, so it could be wirelessly sent to their son, "You will never fully fathom how much your father and I love you. We miss you so, Kal-El.", Lar-El began.  
"My child, you are the last son of your world, Krypton. The coordinance of your shuttle have been directed to the nearest inhabitated planet. My observations have proven that Earth's inhabitants, while on the outside seem cruel, and hateful, harbor an abundant amount of good.  
You mean so much to us, my son, and with a heavy heart, I know that no matter what happens, the good in you will always burn brightly for all to see. We know the man you will some day grow up to be, but more than that, we know the things you shall accomplish. I cannot imagine the burden that has been unfairly cast upon you, but we believe in you, my son. Know, Kal-El, that it does not take any more than the will that is in you to face your demons. But above all us, know that we love you, Kal-El.", Jor-El spoke warmly, embracing his wife.  
The recording ceased, as the floor beneath them split apart. Their home crumbled around them.  
Minutes later, Krypton's core condensed as the ground level caved inwards, then exploaded outwards into the cold wretches of space. The planet Krypton was no more.

**One month later, S.T.A.R. Laboratories, Metropolis**

A young S.T.A.R. Labs technician by the name of Donald Bradwhaite, a young African-American fresh out of college, entrenched himself in the dutiful examinations of the night sky via telescope at the Labratories observatory. He noted in his journal that very night of an encroaching asteroid. Seemingly tracking it's trajectory, realized it was on a collision course for Earth. Hours of nervous calculations soothed his panic, realizing it was only some twelve feet in diameter.  
That morning, Donald retrieved Emil Hamilton, third in charge at the S.T.A.R. Lab facilities.  
"It has no trail?", the thirty year old Emil pondered.  
"No, it definitely is not a comet.", the young technician told.  
"Did you approximate where it will land?"  
"I lost sight of it just before sunrise, though my projections at that time placed it in a small town in Kansas."  
"Estimated time of impact?"  
"Four hours maximum.", Donald answered confidentally.  
"Okay, you can make there it two. You are not to bring any equipment with you, except maybe a geiger counter, is that understood?", Emil decided reluctantly. "And do not let my superiors know you have left.", he added.  
Donald, overjoyed, also appeared unsettled by the gravitas of such an offer. "Understood.", he answered gleefully, hurriedly leaving.

Reaching endless fields of crops and wheat, Donald passed a sign that read; 'Smallville, Kansas, Population 2,146'.  
Setting up on the side of the road, he canvassed the partially clouded sky. He bided his time for nearly a half hour before the eastern sky lit up a vibrant white followed by a stunning thud that shook the ground with power. Donald raced through the vast wheat fields, approaching the dust cloud from the meteor's impact. The surrounding wheat had been flattened for yards by the tremendous shock wave. Donald's foresight made him hesitant to advance any closer. His own curiousity prevailed however, even as the object, still shrouded by a dust cloud, began to buzz peculiarly. With the dust settling, the true nature of the object came into view.  
A metallic gloss consumed the rigid looking vehicle. It was small, but apparently very sturdy, notwithstanding a dent nor scratch. The hissing of exhaust being expelled from multiple ports along each corner of the apparent space vehicle. A door slowly crawled open, revealing a sharp red glow within. The sun's rays peared in, as noises of movement fled outwards. Donald showed no surprise, or shock. Not even the slightest amount of emotion graced his broad features. Advancing closer with a wide gait, he found within that of a young child, no older than eighteen months. The infant swayed, and moved it's arms as if it were waking up from a deep sleep. Yawning, the young child blurted out cackles and sighs of restlessness. Donald grasped the child from out of the craft, rewrapping him in his red cloth. Lar-El's family heirloom dropped from the cloth, as Donald bent over to pick it up. Examining it, his eyes turned blood red throughout, as he placed it on his person. He appeared to walk aimlessly for miles through the wheat fields, before arriving near the corner of a short fence. Seperating himself from the vast crops, and into the open field, it became apparent the child was no longer carried by Donald, but instead a larger African-American. His muscles were a product of obvious physical labor. With a stature of near six and a half feet, he stepped over the fence with no more difficulty than a broad step. Sweat dripped from his dark skin, as he wore no more then a ragged pair of denim overalls. A quaint country home became visible in the distance, as the large black man trecked tiredly forward. Aside from the clucks of various mother hen's in the nearby chick coop, the relentless sound of the hulking man's shuffling footsteps as his bare feet grated against the dirt pathway leading to the home. Crawling up the porch steps, he gently laid the child only feet from the front door before he collapsed unconscious.  
Moments later an older woman stepped out from within the home, stunned by the presence of the infant and incapacitated African-American man. Her sudden gasp alerted that of her husband. She quickly grabbed up the young child, checking him for any harm or injuries, while her husband, with tremendous effort, pulled the large man up against the outer wall of their home. The large black man soon stirred awake, somewhat delirious.  
The elder man quickly questioned, "What happend here?"  
The African American man attempted to stand, though the older man gestured for him to remain where he was. "'Bout twenty miles from here, I was working in a wheat field," he began with a southern draw, "an' I heard this cryin' noise. That's when I found that baby, just lyin' out in the middle of the wheat field, no one else around fer tens a' miles."  
Both the man and woman seemed taken aback by the African-American's claim.  
"Jonathan, maybe this is a sign...", his wife ambiguously told, with a tender innocence in her voice.  
Glaring at her, her husband Jonathan scoffed at her naivete.  
"I'm calling the authorities, Martha.", he said bluntly, jerking their front door open.  
"I would not do that if I were you.", the large African-American man said, this time devoid of any accent whatsoever.  
Jonathan and his wife stopped in their tracks. "Why is that?", he asked bravely.  
"Because this young boy will end up far from the nurturing love, and wholesome upbringing only you can provide for him. His sheer existence is far more precious than any of us could even perceive. This must be his path. For the fate of all you know rests upon his shoulders.", the black man foretold, as he stood, walking down the porch steps. "You shall never see me again. However, if you desire further answers, drive twenty one and two-third miles south-southeast of here, in the middle of a wheat field and you shall find your answers therein. Though, perhaps those answers will only devolve into even more questions.", he continued to say, just before walking back out into the crops of wheat from where he came. He glanced back, unveiling dark red eyes that struck Jonathan and Martha with fear.  
Jonathan chased after him, running a quarter mile deep into the thick of the wheat field, finding nothing, not even a trail in his searches.

Weeks had passed before Jonathan mustered up the will to trapes out towards the location the mysterious man gave him. While Martha fed their newfound son warm milk from a bottle, Jonathan drove as far down a dirt trail as he could go in his old trustworthy pickup truck, before he had to cut through the endless crops of wheat on foot with a compass. He arrived some half hour later in the middle of one such field, where all stalks of wheat had been flattened to the ground. Stunned by the sight before him, the same spacecraft that Donald Bradwhaite had discovered all those weeks ago. He slowly walked closer, leaning inwards to view the craft's interior. Among the alien technology inside, he found the small artifact in a open compartment in which Jor-El had placed it, that bore the tens of thousand odd markings across its cylindrical shape. Placing the artifact in his pocket, he left, heading back towards his truck. Hurriedly, he drove it through the tall wheat fields, returning to the mysterious craft. He quickly wrenched a chain around it, and attached the other end to his truck's hitch. The tires burned out the loose stalks from up under them before it gain traction, and ripped the craft the sunken trench it created upon it's landing. Jonathan then attempted to lift the craft into his trucks tailbed, but to clearly no avail. Getting back in his truck, frustrated, he assumed to just pull the craft all the way back to his small farm.

Martha coddled the infant in her arms, rocking him gently, "Clark Kent. How does that sound?", she said sweetly, lulling him to sleep.  
Their old television set whirred with noises as a news broadcast came on.  
"In Metropolis, a S.T.A.R. Labratories technician by the name of Donald Bradwhaite has gone missing. His employer claims he left the lab early Thursday morning, two weeks ago, without notice of where he was going, or when he would return. Colleagues say he appeared quite anxious that morning. So how does the MPD know he didn't just skip town on some whim? They located his car parked on the side of a dirt road here in Smallville, with the driver's side door ajar. Investigators are hoping to locate him, but with two weeks since he was last seen, they say they are holding back any further optimism.", the local news reporter for Smallville detailed.

"Martha! Come out here!", Jonathan exclaimed as he exited his truck.  
Setting down the baby in a makeshift cribbed that she had earlier removed from the attic space, she walked out on their porch to see that of the large metal craft Jonathan had dragged all the way home.  
Gasping frightfully, she paused before saying, "Oh my god, Jonathan. What is it?"  
"It's what I found out in the wheat fields twenty miles from here."  
She approached the pod, grazing her fingers across the smooth metal surface.  
"I've named him Clark."  
"Clark?"  
"After your father.", Martha replied, heading back inside their small home.  
The sun burned a deep orange as it set over the Kansas wheat fields. Jonathan had pulled the craft into his currently vacant barn before night had fully fallen. Inside, he held Clark in his arms for the first time while Martha set the child's crib up at the foot of their bed.

**Fifteen years later**

Whistles blustered on third down. The Keystone Speedsters were thirteen yards short of their endzone, and the Smallville Rushers had held them behind the line of scrimmage for two passing plays, and one running. Instead of the assured field goal, they went for it on fourth down. As the quarterback pumped the ball to his wide right receiver, a Smallville Rusher had broken through the Speedsters line of defense and tackled him to the ground.  
"Kent, number Fifty-two just sacked Weisinger! The ball's in the air, and it's caught by Kent! He's already down at the fifty yard line! Thirty! There's no one close to catching him! Touchdown Smallville Rushers!", the games announcer exclaimed with a feverish enthusiasm.  
The crowds cheered, while Smallville's coach slammed down his clipboard with excitement.  
Two referees raced onto the field to check on the downed quarterback, who hadn't moved a muscle since his tackling. A dead silence swept both sides of Smallville High's bleachers. The school nurse was hurriedly addressed to come onto the field. Clark had since noticed the panic of the referees and rushed to the side of Keystones quarterback, Mort Weisinger.  
"Call an ambulance!", the Keystone Speedsters coach yelled with utter panick as his star quarterback laid unconscious, blood soaking into his shoulder pads and jersey of the upper right-hand side of his chest.  
Clark stumbled backwards, numb with fear and guilt.

"You have to understand, that what happend was an accident.", Jonathan consoled of his son as they both sat in the waiting room at the Smallville Regional Hospital. Clark's complexion was as white as a ghost until the doctor had entered the waiting room, notifying him, the coaches of both teams, and the parents of Mort Weisinger.  
"Mort is going to be fine. He suffered a concussion, and has a broken collarbone, but he is going to pull through. No more physical sports for the better part of a year, I'm afraid.", the doctor informed.  
Everyone in the room was undoubtedly relieved that the news was not more serious.  
Clark visited Mort before leaving.  
"Hey. I am so sorry, man. I didn't mean to hit you so hard.", Clark apologized wholeheartedly.  
"It's okay, Clark. I'll make it. You do have a lot of power behind you, though. It felt like I got hit by a train or something.", the injured quarterback admitted humourously, adjusting his the brace around his shoulders in clear pain.  
Clark only raised his eyebrows in a sarcastic agreement before leaving the room as the coaches came in to give their condolences.

There air between Clark and his father, Jonathan was constricting on the ride home.  
"Clark,", he began warmly, "you mean more than the world to us, but you have to understand-"  
"I do understand, Dad.", Clark interrupted.  
"You aren't the same as kids your own age. You have certain qualities that far exceed, well, anyone.", Jonathan went on to say.  
"I can hold back, I can keep it in check."  
"We can't risk it son. What if someone were to find out who you are? They would have the government take you away from us, and do Lord knows what to you. Probably keep you locked up for the rest of your life."  
"I highly doubt it.", Clark smirked.  
"In any case, it just isn't smart. It will be better for you to get more engrossed in your studies. Now, we're not going to tell your Mom about this, okay?"  
Clark looked glumly at his father in agreement as they pulled up to their house.  
"Now get inside and wash-up.", Jonathan told him.  
Jonathan remained in his truck for many minutes, in deep thought of his son's future.


	10. JL Chapter 10: Harpooning For You

**Chapter Ten - Harpooning For You**

**The Curry Lighthouse, Maine**

The sun consumed the sky, while the Lighthouse consumed the shore. The waves lulled gently back, and then pushed forward against the rocky shoreline. Once the waves receded back again, they left a white foam that blanketed the sand, before it was rinsed clear again by the succeeding wave. You could taste the salt from the sea in the air.  
A small child stumbled in the sand by the force of the incoming and outgoing waves. His father smiled, picking him up and holding him in his right arm as he adjusted the fishing pole in his left and cast his line some yards out to sea. Everyday the blonde headed boy would spend time with his father along the shoreline. One such evening, the waves were particularly churning, a dark reflection of the storm clouds above scared the man's young child. He once again picked up his son in his arms, as they watched the seas cradle back and forth. It began to rain as the boy pointed towards the waters some thirty feet out. Something was moving beneath the oceans suface. His father can't quite seem to imagine what it could be until it began to emerge from the water. The head of a man, suited in a grey head armor approached from the ocean, behind him were four more men. Walking from the seabed to the shallow shoreline, they converged at a moderate pace around the man and his son. Dressed in armors of black and lavender and holding swords and razor sharp spears, they stood a good foot over the man and his son. Setting his child down, he directed that he get behind him.  
"Who is that, Daddy?", the boy innocently questioned.  
His father, nervous with fear, asked of the strange men from the ocean, "What do you want?!"  
"The boy.", one of them replied without emotion.  
"What?!"  
"You will do as we have asked.", another ocean dweller retorted.  
"No! You are not going to my son. You can't!"  
"We are. Give us the child."  
Refusing, the man charged one of the armored ocean dwellers. The mysterious man grasped his throat, and lunged his sword into his stomach. His voice quaked with regret as he fell to the sandy shore, blood draining from his abdomen and being washed out to sea.  
"Don't be afraid, son.", he spoke calmly, as he tried his best to conceal his bloody wound. "You always have a choice.", he continued to say in a odd tone of voice.  
One of the mysterious men crouched to place a bizarre mask over the head of the young boy as he sobbed fearfully. His fathers heart sunk into his stomach at his son's cries. The mysterious ocean dweller grabbed up the boy, and headed into the water with him. The three others followed, while the fourth dragged the fatally wounded man out to sea also, and regrouped with his group as they traversed the sea floor far below the ocean's surface.

A sudden throb of his muscles jolted King Arthur awake on the seabed of the Bab-el-Mandeb strait. Several varieties of sea life encircled him, as if waiting for his next command. He arose to find the bloodied remnants of the creatures that had earlier attacked him, and the remains also of his royal guards who all died defending him. Blood dispersed into the ocean water from the slices and cuts on his otherwise tough flesh. He briefly mourned the loss of his loyal men, before departing across the vast seafloor. Swimming for what seemed like miles, he reached a ridge on the sea floor. He stamped his trident forcefully at its base. The rocky ridge cracked at multiple points before splitting open violently. The immense change in pressure, and the flushing of the ocean water through the large crevice created an astonishing whirlpool, one the likes of which has never been seen. King Arthur swam for the thrashing vortex with no discretion. He was pulled down in the endless whirlpool in the blink of an eye.  
Thousands of miles away in the Atlantic Ocean, King Arthur emerged from the base of a similar vortex in the heart of a magnificent underwater city; Atlantis.  
Pathways are traced with near symmetry across the city beneath the sea. Stone monuments remain erected, yet thoroughly corroded revealing an age for the city that far exceeds that of the Ancient Egyptians. Domes, and towers with domes atop them are sprinkled among Atlantis. King Arthur heads for one large structure, containing that of countless domes interconnected with one another.  
"Arthur?! Oh, thank Poseidon you are unharmed!", his wife, Mera, greeted him as he entered his throne room.  
His royal guards stood at attention, though a look of relief of his return graced their masked faces.  
Mera, with her flowing red hair, and golden tiara embraced her King and husband passionately.  
"Where is our son?", he asked softly.  
"Resting in his nursery."

Arthur stood over his sleeping son who was wrapped tightly in a pale green linen. His son awoke, flailing his arms, as Arthur extended his hand outward, the young child grasped his fathers finger. Arthur smiled with pride.  
Mera entered shortly after, her silky green gown brushing gently against Arthur's side as she leaned against him. Her fingers traced the cuts and slices on her husband's skin.  
"What happend to you, Arthur?", his beautiful red haired wife wondered with concern. "Where are the guards that accompanied you?", she added.  
"They're dead.", he revealed as he walked to the adjoining balcony beside his their large bed.  
She followed him, "What do you mean they're dead?! How?"  
Arthur looked out over his city for a few moments, before replying, "We were attacked-"  
"By whom?!", she interrupted.  
"It does not matter. All that matters is that I survived.", he spoke determinedly.  
Mera soon dropped the discussion, as she tended to their son. Arthur remained in deep contemplation for the remainder of the evening, staring outwards at the wondrous view of the city from his balcony.

**Mogadishu, Somalia**

Somalian people traversed the dirt laden streets, on bicycles, in caravans. Local shop owners peddled what ever they could to make what little money there was to be made to feed their families. Above one such shop, in a second story room a tall African man sat. In dress wear that cost far above what most of the countries citizens could make in a year, he slurped continuously of his soup dish, disregarding the presence of two of his local thugs that had dropped in unannounced.  
"Excuse me, Mr. David, sir- We,", one of the men began nervously, "We thought you'd want to know...", he continued, sweat trinkling from his forehead.  
The well kempt man set down his bowl of soup, and engaged in eye contact with the hoodlum. Staring at him, the somalian thug began to shake with fear. The African man switched his gaze onto the thug's partner, his upper lip snarled slightly as he jerked his neck in the direction of the trembling hoodlum. The accompaning hoodlum without hesitation pulled his handgun from his waste line, and shot the delinquint goon.  
The African man sat back down before saying, "No one calls me by my first name. Now what was he going to tell me?", his Kenyan accent inflecting throughout his speech.  
"Just that the crew you had sent to raid some of the fishing boats last night-", the second goon told.  
"What about them?", he interjected as he drew his hands over his short hair and leaned back in his chair.  
"They're all dead."  
"Who killed them, the fishermen?"  
"No. They're dead too."

**Atlantis**

"Arthur? Are you coming to bed?", Mera asked tenderly.  
King Arthur's grip on the ledge of the balcony became immense as frustration flared in his eyes. The stone was cracked under his vice like grip, crumbling in his hands.

"You always have a choice.", were his fathers last words, clutching his stomach as blood pooled onto the shore with each incoming wave rinsing it away. An Atlantean Guard placed a mask securely over his head, and lifted him up, carrying him into the ocean.

"Arthur?! Please just tell me what happend.", Mera concerningly asked of her husband.  
"I believe the surface world is soon to be under attack.", he responded, turning to face his Atlantean wife.  
"What concern is it of yours?", she questioned.  
Arthur glared at her, unsure of how to respond to such a cold statement. He pushed her aside as he walked out of their royal bedroom. Grabbing his royal green robe, he left his wife and son as he headed for the Atlantean council.

"What is the meaning of a council session at such a late hour, my King?", an Atlantean council member pondered.  
King Arthur set at the head of a large table inside Atantis' capital, while other council members, numbering in at over a dozen sat on either side of him.  
"My apologies council member Kaor. I have gathered you here, because Atlantis teeters on the cusp of a poignant moment. Historical, perhaps.", King Arthur began, speaking in a regal tone. "A great danger is looming over the surface world. I encountered this threat during my investigation of a trespassing in the Fosian seas. I breach I assumed was of the surface dwellers, but I was mistaken.", he continued.  
"You are saying these trespassers were not of the surface world?", a council member rhetorically asked.  
"Yes. They were of something other-worldly. Their appearance was nauseating, and their brutality was as equal. Killing without reason, or remorse, they slaughtered the petty surface dwellers, murdered my royal guards. I narrowly escaped with my own life.", Arthur explained diligently.  
"How did you come to know of this 'breach'?", an elder member queried.  
"It came to me in a vision.", the King answered blankly as he recalled the event.  
The council remained silent as they glanced at one another curiously. None spoke out regarding King Arthur's explaination of prior knowledge of the trespassing.  
"You yourself call them petty, Sire. Why do their lives retain any such value, at the least concerning us?", a large Atlantean council member wondered, breaking the silence in the large hall.  
"Orin, you most of all should understand the value of any life that is threatened by an unstoppable evil to be one worth saving.", Arthur retorted with a kind tone.  
"At the cost of countless of Atlanteans' lives attempting to stop an 'unstoppable evil'?", Orin spoke fearlessly, embellished in armor equally as regal as King Arthur's.  
Two-thirds of the council nodded, and spoke in agreement with Orin.  
Arthur's demeanor changed within a moment, becoming agitated by the lack of respect the embellished council member was showing him. His nose flared slightly as his eyebrows raised in anger. "Enough!", King Arthur exclaimed, violently slamming his left fist against the table  
"We will reconviene within the hour and inform you of our final verdict, my King.", Orin acknowledged, none too happy with Arthur's outburst.  
The entire council stood from the table, and left to a personal chamber to make their decision, void of King Arthur's prescence.  
Arthur bided his time, venturing through the long, and endless seeming corridors of Atlantis' capital buidling. Coming upon a large statue of Poseidon. It's stature dwarfed Arthur, as he stood staring at it for over half an hour.

"The wide aperture of the blue ocean was interupted by the presence of a stone city floating atop it. Sprawling in varying directions, Atlanteans inhabited it in peace. The sky quaked as a lightning bolt struck in the heart of the city on the water. From the bolt, the grey bearded god Poseidon emerged. Wielding his trident, he stood as the white glow of his godhood evaporated from him back into the heavens. The ground beneath his bare feet split in two as the ocean under the city burst through. The citizens of Atlantis hurried to higher ground, trampling over one another. The ground of the city within moments became flooded with six feet deep of water. The water level reaching only to the waist of Poseidon, the rest of Atlantis that could not achieve a higher position between the swarms of panicked people, drowned. Poseidon thrust his mighty trident into the water, using what little godly power he retained to allow Atlantis' survivors to breath in the raging waters that were consuming them.  
This statue immortalizes the immortal Poseidon who sacrificed his life for Atlantis.", an inscription at the base of the statue read.

Arthur payed his respects as the council returned to reveal their verdict to him. Royal guards accompanied both sides of the group of council members. The guards approached their King, swords in hand. Arthur could only scoff at the close proximity.  
"Step away from me.", he told them in a low toned frustration.  
Against his orders, they stepped closer.  
"What is the meaning of this?!", he questioned incredulously.  
The council stood at a distance, Orin was however front and center as the royal guards attempted to seize Arthur where he stood. Resisting, he fought of his guards one by one, tossing them with a single shove of his powerful arms. One guard was thrown into the large statue of Poseidon, cracking it at it's base. The statue leaned as the stone base crumpled and it came crashing down. All in it's wake lunged from the falling monument. The council gasped and glared at the fractured robble of their memorial to Poseidon. Orin clutched a loose trident from one of the fallen guards, and broadly thrusted it into the head of his King. Stumbling, the remaining guards quickly restrained him in his delirium. Being lifted to his feet by his once royal protectors, he spat blood from his mouth into the faces of Orin and one such guard that apprehended him as it dripped through his long blonde hair and beard. Orin only smiled at his gesture of disrespect, wiping the blood from his face.  
The elder council member stoutly read off to Arthur his supposed crimes, "For your treasonous actions against the sovereignty of Atlantis, your bias as a surface dweller, and your desecration of a sacred monument, you are hereby expelled from Atlantis and back into the arms of the greedy, vile people you so choose to cherish.", he read aloud with a stout, authoritative tone.  
"Take him to my chambers for the night. And keep him heavily restrained.", Orin added vindicatively, giving Arthur a powerful blow to the jaw, rendering him unconscious as the guards drag their former King away.

Restrained securely against a stone wall with shackles around his feet and hands that extended him no leeway, Arthur came to. Initially only seeing blurs, his vision corrected after a moment to find that of Orin standing not ten feet from him. He wore the golden wrist guards that had been on Arthur not moments before.  
"I shall never become aware of why my father sought his heir to be a filthy surface dweller instead of his own son.", Orin spat with a viscious inflection in his voice. "Even living amongst us for most of your life, you still instinctually favor your worthless heritage. Your true heritage. This was your doom." Orin paused as he advanced closer to Arthur, "Do you have anything to say? No lies to defend yourself with? The people of Atlantis may see you as their 'glorious leader', their 'Poseidon incarnate'. But I do not. I see you for what you truly are; a worthless surface dweller that could no more lead Atlantis then he could escape the clutches of my fathers men the day they captured you. You are a pathetic "King", and a deserve none of the inheritance from my father that you received.", Orin ranted coldly, unsheathing a sword from his waistline. "And you will never raise your fist at me again."  
King Arthur only snarled his upper lip as he once more spat in Orin's face. Overcome with utter rage Orin thrusted his sword in the air, violently swinging it downwards decapitating Arthurs left hand from his shackled arm. Blood perfusely rushed from his wrist.  
"I just might have to execute that beautiful wife of yours, as an accessory of treason, being an Atlantean herself. And I'll have to do away with your half-Atlantean son also. Then I shall be Atlantis' rightful King!", with the most malevolent smile, Orin spoke, wiping the blood from his face that sprayed on him.  
King Arthur roared visciously, not from the pain of his wound, but of anger of the threats Orin presented his family with. His muscles flexed and bulged as he thrusted his right arm free, completely tearing out the corroded stone from the wall that the shackles were restraining him to. Slipping his left arm from it's shackle, he ripped his legs from their restraints in an instant, charging the brazen Atlantean Prince. Caught off guard, Orin had lost grip of his sword as Arthur wrestled him to the ground. A ferocious intensity glared in the King of Atlantis' eyes, striking Orin motionlessly terrified while his wound continued dripping drasticly from his left arm. Arthur pinned him down while his blood pooled around him on the ground. He continued to waylay defiant Atlantean with his right fist until there was an equal amount of blood from Orin as there had been from himself. Orin's face was disfigured beyond recognition. Arthur ripped his green robe from around his adversary's neck, constricting it tightly around his handless arm. He retrieved his golden bracelets, so to keep the green cloth secured onto his arm.

Racing from Orin's personal chambers, he entered the intermediary small corridor as the door shut behind him. Sealed inside, water began gushing from multiple points throughout the room. Standing in place, the door ahead of him open leading into the blue tinted city beneath the sea. Blood leaked from his wound into the salty water around him, dissipating like a continuous stream of smoke would in the air. Arthur swam, swiftly evading his own royal guards who were countering as watchmen for the interim ruler of Atlantis, Orin.  
He entered relatively small structure that contained an armory, and also the chief Atlantean physician's quarters beside his palace. Heading into the building the same way he left Orins' chambers, he was immediately approached by loyal men, unaware of the council's verdict on their now expelled King.  
"Sire! You are hurt!", a loyal physician exclaimed as many more approached, offering their services.  
Their apprehension was evident as the physician knelt down, unaware of how to approach his life-threatening wound.  
"Lock the doors, let no one in, no matter the circumstance!", he demanded as the men sealed all entrances and exits.  
"Anything else?", a guard inquired loyally.  
Weak, he only looked as his wounded arm, and glanced at a massive hook like harpoon mounted on the wall in the nearby armory across from him.  
They laid him across an operating table, removing the gold gauntlet and blood soaked cloth from his arm. Pale from a losso of blood, Arthur fell unconscious as the medical physician quickly gave him a blood transfusion.  
Nearly a half hour later he arose to find the his forearm wrapped in bandages, while the physician and his assistants continually checked his vitals.  
"We fixed you as best we could, my King. The wound has been cauterized and cleaned.", the chief physician began before hesitating to say further, "And we also took the liberty of... making your left arm as equally functional as it once was."  
He felt a heaviness extending from his forearm as he became more lucid. Lifting his left arm, he noticed a large hook with an elongated tip attached to a base that was welded to the end of his golden gauntlet.  
His physician approached him, noting, "On the inside of the wrist guard is the coil of the harpoon. You simply twist the front bracket of the guard to fire it.", he explained.  
Arthur unwrapped the bandages from his arm, thanked his men, and left hurriedly to his wife and son.  
Silently entering his nearby domed palace, he woke his wife Mera with a great urgency.  
"What is the matter?...", she asked lethargically. "Arthur! What happend?!", she wondered of his panicked demeanor, seeing only his silhouette in their darkened bedroom. Her exclaimation woke their son in his coral crib at the end of their bed.  
"We need to leave. Now.", he whispered imperatively.  
"Your peril is inauspicious, Arthur...", Mera told frightfully.  
She soon saw his left arm, gasping a fearful sob.  
"What has happend to you, my King?", she exclaimed, tears trailing down her cheeks as she leaned from out of bed.

In the quarters of Orin, a guard entered the chamber in which he had Arthur after not hearing anything for quite some time. Before entering the door way he saw a small trickle of blood seeping out from under the door of the dungeon. The guard winced at the sight, pondering what torturous acts Orin was inflicting upon his former King. Blood leaked further from the doorway as he pulled open the large stone door. Before his eyes was Orin's disfigured body, quietly moaning in agony as he lie in a homogeneous puddle of his and Arthur's blood. He rushed to his aid as his feet splashed in blood. Orin's face was unrecognizably disfigured by Arthur's spontaneous rage. The guard baffled by how his former King could achieve such a feat glared in awe at the torn stone wall, and broken shackles. Riddled with hesitation, he began to yell for help, alerting the nearby guards of King Arthur's escape.

Arthur swam vigorously with Mera being held in his right arm, as she gripped their son tightly in hers. Hook-hand forward, he reached a transit vessel that had just begun undocking from it's station on the outskirts of Atlantis' northern end. He stopped in his tracks letting go of his wife and child as he clutched the first ring of his left arm's bracelet, twisting it with great force. The harpoon launched at an astonishing velocity from his arm as it punctured a precise section of thick steel upon the vessel's hull. He once again embraced his wife and child in his strong right arm, and the unbreakable titanium alloy coil of the harpoon retracted quickly, pulling them up against the vessel's bottom as it left Atlantis.  
The royal guards in the city's heart searched to no avail for Arthur or his kin while Orin was under the treatment of the same medical physician that doctored the former King.

"Why would Orin betray you?", Mera questioned, in disbelief of her husband's claim.  
"I requested the council's approval of something they felt was treasonous.", he vaguely responded.  
Arthur's left arm again caught Mera's eye as she grimaced with sadness.  
"What request?"  
"To help the surface world.", Arthur said sternly, tightly holding Mera and his son, as they hugged the hull of the norther export vessel.  
Mera paused to gather her thoughts before asking him what he was helping them with.  
"They're are soon to face a threat, if not already, that is evil in it's vilest form. And once it destroys them, there shall be no garuntee for us to be spared their wrath."  
Cradling her son in her arms, Mera spoke not a word further for a great period of time. The ocean's temperature dropped gradually the farther north the submarine reached. A couple hours later Arthur woke his restless love, letting loose his strong hold of her as he used great strength to dislodge his hook from the vessel. From there they both swam east for another three hours before Mera could swim no further. Arthur once again embraced his wife as he swam for the three of them. His legs felt numb, his motivation to keep swimming was however unwavering as a half hour later they came upon shore.  
"I have never felt dry land.", Mera noted, as she clutched her son warmly.  
Arthur struggled to walk upon the sandy shore before he collapsed of exhaustion. Mera screamed his name as she rushed over to him. Weak, he exerted what strength he had left to stand, staggering one his feet as he leaned upon his wife.  
Arthur mumbled, "How is Arthur, Jr.?"  
"Restless.", she replied as their son bucked his arms out from under his blanket.  
They continued on their long journey. Mera knew not to ask where they were headed, presuming on her own of it being a place of safety from Arthur's past as a land dweller. A tall red light house graced the horizon ahead of them.

**Mogadishu, Somalia**

The African man was cooking in his luxurious kitchen, fitted with granite countertops, and all new appliances, when gunshots rang throughout his relatively large home. A large fillet knife in hand, he continued to gut a large tuna fish with not even as much as a flinch. His men guarding his home belt out yelps and pleas for mercy as more gunshots bellow through the Kenyan man's hallways.  
Four masked men steathily advance towards the kitchen, armed with sub-machine and bullet-proof vests. The check every room and corner on their way down the hallway. The Kenyan man continues to prep his dinner, void of any concern for his safety. Blaring out demands in their Somalian tongue, they urge the man to get on his knees. He only glances up at them for a moment before he, in an instant, lunges at one of the armed men, slicing his throat with the fillet knife. Stunned, the other mercenaries barely have time to even react before the African native jerks the weapon out of another assassin, lifting his arm up, and stabbing him through the armpit, piercing through his chest. The remaining two guards attempt to open fire, only to have the third mercenary also have his throat slit. Bullets strike across the Kenyan's midsection, knocking him back slightly before he strikes the last gunman with his bloodied fillet knife. His adrenaline pumping, he rips off his tucked in dress shirt, revealing a high quality kevlar vest underneath with half a dozen bullets smashed into it's thick surface. Breathing heavily, he removes the vest as he straddles the bodies on his kitchen floor, soaking his polished dress shoes in the splash of blood. His bare chest was lined with scar's across his muscular physique.  
Stepping from his home he cried out, covered in his assassin's blood, "Is that the best you have to throw at me?!"

Hours later the Kenyan man sat across from a special investigator who was dubiously detailing the killer of the fishermen in which he was financing.  
"Local witnesses claim to have seen a long, blond haired man leap from the waters and impaling the fishermen and pirates with a...", he paused, continued after clearing his throat, "... A gold trident."  
"You are not serious?", the Kenyan scoffed.  
"The locals have seen him on more than one occasion. They refer to him as the 'King of the seas'. Steeped in legend, I personally invested no such belief in a man who lived in the ocean. Although the evidence is mounting otherwise.", the investigator reasoned with certainty.  
The Kenyan man was devoid of any facial expression, save for a bloodlust in his eyes that has so often overcome him previously.

**The Curry Lighthouse, Maine**

Arthur kicked down the two sheets of plywood that cordoned off the condemned lighthouse. As dust spread around them. Cobwebs littered the corners and stairwell railing as Mera entered in behind her husband, with Arthur Jr. cradled in her arms. Water dripped from their sopping bodies, causing Mera to feel quite discomforted by the feeling.  
"Arthur, I feel so heavy, and my breathing feels constrained.", she told him.  
"You will get use to it."  
The former Atlantean King caressed the railing of the spiral staircase as he became overwhelmed by fond memories of his childhood.  
"You lived here as a child?", Mera wondered awkwardly.  
"No.", he explained, humoring her ignorance, "This was just a place I visited often. With my father."  
Mera followed her husband up the spiral staircase. At the top, she marveled at the view of the ocean from above.  
"Arthur... It looks magnificent."  
"Yes. It does.", he added wistfully.


End file.
